The Mystery of the Frozen Heart
by The Necroposter
Summary: It's the mid-1920s. Tensions in the wizarding world mount as radical dissident Gellert Grindelwald gains more and more followers. Amidst the growing climate of fear and violence, Celestia Prewett must uncover the truth behind the myth of the frozen heart, the only entity that can undo a terrible wrong.
1. The End

**Disclaimer : Nothing out of Harry Potter or Fantastic Beasts belongs to me - only my OCs do. **

**A/N : I thank everyone who takes the time to give this story the time of day. If you do, I would really appreciate some feedback, positive or negative. It's the only way a writer can grow. **

* * *

**The End**

 **It's not night. It's not raining. There's no ominous thunder.** No, it's broad daylight when it all happens, but even if it were the blackest of starless, moonless nights, it would make no difference. There's so much blinding radiance, it eclipses the sun. Bright lights sparking out of wands hit each other hit their targets blast stone and metal and wood concrete bringing down walls and roofs cracking asphalt bending lampposts crashing windows there's glass flying stones shards shrapnel people scream run vehicles crash fire smoke death.

Death is everywhere.

The opponents attack each other mercilessly with curses, hexes, anything that might damage break rip tear crack slash split kill.

It's all about the kill count now.

Human casualties are piling up, but it's unavoidable. This is war. In war, people die. Innocents die. It cannot be helped.

But Celestia doesn't care about any of it right now. The opinions the debates the press the conflicts the skirmishes the dead the destruction the palpable fear like lead on the tongue the horrors not anything no. She runs, apparates, bounces off an energy shield cast by whoever, falls on her back, hits her head, sees stars. Clenching her teeth and groaning, she pushes herself to her feet, wipes a sweat-and-blood soaked strand of hair out of her forehead with a slippery, shaky hand. She totters, breathes, blinks blindly in the haze of all that smoke listens takes in the cacophony of curses screams horns honking windows exploding the wounded weeping orders being shouted names called sirens approaching dear God.

A curse hits her in the side. Pain explodes in her entire body. Agony. Fire. Torture. Oh God oh no what is this it's hell it's death it's oh God oh God like having a hole drilled into her ribcage filled with molten gold lava fire. She can't even scream as she goes down on her face, hits her forehead, thrashes gasps gags vomits oh no is this the end it can't be she has to find it has to make it has to succeed can't stop can't give up can't die.

No. _No!_

Barely realising that she's weeping, she props herself up on one elbow, mops blood out of her eyes, spits bile, crawls forward, broken and ignored. So many important people here. So many fates being decided. A lone Prewett daughter doesn't catch anyone's eye. Even if, she's between the battle lines, inching forward painfully, clawing at pieces of broken asphalt with her torn fingernails and dragging herself ahead bit by bit, trying desperately to stomp down the growing dread that she is about to fail her mission.

Celestia Prewett is dying, and nobody cares. She doesn't care all that much, either, not the way things are going, but she _needs to find it_. If she doesn't, she'll fail, and if she fails, everything that ever mattered to her will be lost.


	2. Salvation

**Salvation**

 **1925**

 **1** **The sky was clear and the sun rose over the Atlantic, drowning the stark skyline of New York City in glorious shades of orange, red, gold, and pink.** The _Mauretania_ docked at Pier 54, the Cunard Line pier, just south of 14th Street. It was a crisp, sharp-edged, cold autumn morning. Celestia Prewett stepped off the ramp decisively, the heels of her soft leather boots clicking dully on the polished wood. She was clutching the handle of a relatively small leather briefcase, which carried an assortment of magical objects not meant for Muggle eyes.

Of course, anything had to be done to keep magical things away from Muggles. Heaven forbid the wizarding world be revealed to non-magical people.

Angrily stomping that thought down in its inception, she adjusted her scarf, sucked in a lungful of the cold, salty, humid air, and headed toward the customs officers. Protocols needed to be observed, after all. There was the law. She was a Prewett. Prewetts followed the law. That was how it worked.

Clearing customs was easy; she was a tourist visiting friends and would be returning to England soon, there was nothing suspicious in her briefcase etc. etc. She just smiled her way through the questions, said the right things, and then headed out into the streets. She'd been in big cities, before, including Rome and Paris and Berlin in Europe alone, so even though she'd been born and bred on a country estate in East Sussex, she knew how to navigate a metropolis. As she slowly ambled down 14th Street, weaving through busy crowds of tourists and commuters all wrapped up in long dark coats and scarves and hats, she couldn't help but smile a little. New York, just like every other place, had its own flair, and it was a privilege to be able to live in times where travelling across the globe had become so easy.

That wasn't the reason she was smiling, though. No, finally, _finally_ , Celestia was getting somewhere. According to the most reliable source on the planet regarding fantastic beasts and where to find them, the frozen heart (it existed it existed it just had to no more questioning!) was here, in the capital of the American wizarding community. Just thinking about poor, sweet Newt Scamander made her stomach cramp a little. She tried to ignore the ugly sting of guilt that crept up her innards like a parasite. Yes, poor Newt. He was such a good person – sweet, intelligent, peace-loving, tolerant, unafraid. Truth be told, she'd grown rather fond of him on their little treasure hunt.

Little treasure hunt? She almost rolled her eyes at herself in annoyance. What was _with_ her habit of resorting to ridiculous euphemisms all the time, even in her own head? Well, calling things the way they were wasn't exactly considered proper where she hailed from, and her class of people was all about propriety, at least on the surface; not all Pureblood families relied on protocol as much as hers, but that didn't matter. Her branch of the Prewetts was indeed very proper in its dealings with the outside world, and euphemism were certainly a key ingredient of this.

Her search for the mystical frozen heart had not been a little treasure hunt. No, the treasure in question was literally the one thing that could save her entire universe from falling apart.

Newt had understood her wish to search for and find the frozen heart, because he was the last person who'd just stand by and let someone suffer for no good reason. Celestia was pretty convinced that even if there _were_ good reason, he'd still intervene. He was such a sweet, sweet boy, and she had betrayed him. It hadn't meant to be personal, but it had certainly felt that way. The problem was that he simply did not understand that in order to do what she had to, she'd need to cross a line that he would never. He told her, once he found out about her plan, that there was another way. She asked him what that way would look like, to which he hadn't had a better answer except, 'We'll think of something'. That was when she'd discreetly absconded, leaving him in a bit of a pickle in order to get a good head start. She was counting on the goodness of his heart, namely that he wouldn't give her up to the authorities, but there was no telling. Different people had different priorities, and he might just come to the conclusion that preventing the end of her world as she knew it was simply not worth the price.

The most disconcerting aspect of this was that she agreed with him to a point.

The price she was willing to pay was horrendous. There was no other way to put it. This was always the case with magic: if one wanted to achieve great things and overcome immense obstacles, there was always sacrifice involved. Celestia of course wished she could be like the heroines of the stories she used to pen as a young girl, where the fictional super-witches got everything they desired without having to suffer any consequences: popularity, wealth, beauty, intelligence, freedom of choice, magical skills beyond anyone's imagination. The one time she'd deliberately attempted to try her hand at wandless magic, she'd blown up a chemist's shop and spent six month confined to the family estate under house arrest. She only hadn't gone to Azkaban because of her family's influence. The real price had been a lot more costly, though, and in the end, she wondered if prison wouldn't have been the better choice.

Oh, well. There was no use in complaining, and nobody wanted to listen to her whine – not even herself. With one gloved hand, she brushed a wayward strand of her reddish-brown hair behind her ear, dodged into a conveniently deserted alley, and apparated into the coordinates given to her by the dealer she'd contacted before leaving Southampton on board the _Mauritania_.

She materialised smack in the middle of a small clearing amidst a thick group of trees. Red-golden and brown leaves were swaying from the branches and gently landing on the grass. Taking a deep breath of the fragrant air, she smiled again. Autumn was the loveliest season, wasn't it? It made her think of falling leaves and crisp cold and blue skies and pale sunshine gleaming in blue eyes the smile that voice the sense of humour-

 _Alastair_.

No. Good God, what was wrong with her? She needed to focus, to stay sharp, to be in and out of this place as quickly as possible. The mere possibility that she might be minutes away from finally holding the frozen heart in her hands was making her light-headed and queasy and strangely elated. Part of her didn't believe it. After all the hoops she'd jumped through, after all the close calls, here she was, about to receive the solution to the most horrible calamity she'd ever suffered through.

That was when the sound of people apparating close by cut through the atmosphere. Why more than one? What was-

Damn it, this was a trap!

She wanted to hightail it, and found that she couldn't.

"Don't even think about it," a woman said from behind her.

Several men and women in long leather coats pointed their wands directly at her head. One man was dressed in a sharp suit and a black overcoat. He was tall, dark-haired, and perhaps in his mid-forties – the boss of the leather types, Celestia presumed.

She pocketed her wand, dropped the briefcase, and raised her hands. "If you want to rob me, rob me. There's nothing here that can't be replaced."

"We're not here to rob you, Miss Prewett," the man said, in a thick American drawl that sounded pretty nasal to her ears. Maybe she was just disinclined to be gracious due to the circumstances. There was always that distinct possibility. "We're here to arrest you."

Arching one eyebrow, she said, "Really? May I ask what the charges are?"

"Illegal contraband of magical species," sullen boss man said. He actually looked more disappointed than angry. "Put your hands behind your back and don't resist."

Smiling sweetly to compensate for the fact that her innards were in knots and that she suddenly felt chilled to the bone, she said, "I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

 **2** **Little later, they were at the rather impressive MACUSA headquarters, where she was led to a rather unimpressive grey little office inside the bowels of the structure.** They sat her down at one side of a grey desk on a grey chair. Opposite her was Sullen Boss Man, who turned out to be one Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was an impressive title; one had to give him that.

Celestia's hands were cuffed behind her back. The powers that be had confiscated her wand and her briefcase. Like this, she was effectively powerless. She tried not to squirm in her chair and to keep the icy steel hooks of panic in check as best she could. Well, of course she wanted to tell American Sheriff over there why she needed to be sent on her way, how important it was that she complete her quest, that she would do just about _anything_ to get out of here and find what she'd set out to find. Instead, she focussed on sitting still and upright, on not breaking eye-contact, and on not revealing more than necessary. Her education sure had its uses, and she was now actually grateful for the strictness of her parents.

Graves folded his hands atop the metal table and frowned slightly at her. He looked tired and so put upon, it was almost funny – almost. "Miss Prewett, what were you thinking? Did you really believe that you'd be allowed to waltz into our country and smuggle an artefact back to Britain that is so dangerous, it might well turn the tides in favour of those who'd wish to ignite an all-out war between wizards and No-Majs?"

How she hated the American version of the perfectly serviceable term 'Muggle'. Seriously, they just had to do everything different on purpose, didn't they? It certainly seemed that way. Maybe this was her bias piping up again – well, all right, probably. Certainly. Trying very hard to keep her composure intact, she replied, "Mister Graves, I am by no means a law-breaker, nor am I a follower of Gellert Grindelwald. That is what you were not so subtly hinting at, if I'm not terribly mistaken."

He just kept scrutinising her, fairly unimpressed. "Several of your family members seem to at least sympathise with Grindelwald, and your own older sister is a known associate of his. There's also your husband's brother, who-"

" _Ex-husband_ ," she cut in before she realised, her tone sharper than was smart. Forcing herself to smile – another thing she was grateful had been drilled into her from an early age on – she added, "Apollo Malfoy and I separated two years ago. What he or any of his family do is none of my concern and has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm here in your lovely country."

For a moment, he didn't react, but finally, he said, "What makes you so sure the thing you're looking for even exists?" Was he serious?

She gave him a pointed look. "Well, one, I actually saw the beast it belongs to; two, your reaction is kind of telling." When no reply came, she suppressed a sigh. "Mister Graves, I don't want to get mixed up in wizarding conflicts of any kind."

"You already did."

"Not deliberately. I am not a political person, of that I can assure you." She paused for a moment after realising she was starting to talk faster and faster, took a soothing breath, and collected herself. "Do you know of my predicament?"

He nodded curtly. "I do. That doesn't change the fact that what you're planning is highly illegal."

She dearly wanted to be mad at Newt, whom she highly suspected of being the culprit, but she found that she couldn't. Everyone would do what they had to, including Newt. "All I want is a chance to save my family."

His frown steepened. "As far as I understand how things work on your side of the planet, the Prewetts are only very distantly related to the Fawleys."

Anger pierced her gut and made her want to bite his nose off. She felt her teeth clench without her permission. Her back and shoulders were terse and knotted, and her fingernails bit into her palms as she balled her hands into fists. "Then you don't understand anything." It came out as a flat whisper.

"Ah," he said, and uttered a wry little chuckle. "I get it. You're in love with one of them. Hence the divorce. Hence your dogged determination to tear the world apart if need be, just so you can save the guy in question."

"It's not just that," she said, sounding frightfully disdainful in her own ears (which was frightfully distasteful), but not caring. "They are my family. I _love_ them. Tell me, is there anything you wouldn't do for your family, Mister Graves?"

A good number of seconds ticked by as he just watched her solemnly, but then, the subtlest hint of a smile briefly made the corners of his mouth twitch. "The American wizarding community is my family, Miss Prewett, and I will not allow you or anyone else to just prance in here and endanger everything we've worked for all our lives."

She had no idea why, but this somehow deflated her. Her shoulders slumped. She leaned back against the metal of the chair and gave him a sorrowful look. "Then you understand how I feel."

Serious again, he said, "I do. It changes nothing."

"I know," she said, and closed her eyes. A little while ago, her thoughts would have been racing even now as her brain tried to find a way out of this predicament. At the moment, though, she couldn't think clearly. She'd got so close to salvation, only to have it snatched from her grasp again. God, she was just so, so tired. Sometimes, she just wanted to give up and lie down and sleep sleep sleep forever. That was a nice thought. Unfortunately, it was also a hopeless dream. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing," he said, to which she just stared at him in bafflement. "You haven't actually broken any laws. Your contact never showed, so there was no crime except for the intent. You're gonna tell us what you know about the frozen heart, about the beast it belongs to-"

" _Hibernus Horridus_. Also known as Hibby to his admirers. Admirer. There's only one of those around." Even the most dreadful creatures still had a right to a whimsical nickname, it seemed. That at least was Newt's philosophy.

Graves gave her an irritated look. "After that, we'll send you back home with a slap on the wrist. Of course, you won't get another permit to travel stateside for at least a decade, and if you are one day allowed to return, you'll be under constant surveillance."

She snorted dry laughter. "Quite the police state you have here, if I may say so."

"Call it whatever you like," he said, and shrugged nonchalantly. "You're still-"

The ground shook. The building groaned. Was there lightning? The air smelled of ammoniac. A bright light blinded her. The door blew inward in huge chunks of charred metal. She was caught by the shockwave and slammed against the opposing war. The world went black.


	3. Ties That Bind

**Ties That Bind**

 **1913**

 **1** **Most people found Potions class dreadfully boring and dull,** not to mention horribly complicated, but Newt had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed it. It could get a little repetitive and tricky, yes, but the uses of potions were manifold, often bordering on miraculous. He remembered watching his mother brew a healing potion once when two of the hippogriffs caught a fungal infection that had, up until that point, been considered lethal to the poor beasts. She'd refused to give up, though, and after much trial and error, she, edging ever closer to her breaking point, had managed to succeed. It had been glorious, watching the hippogriffs shake off their lethargy, and he'd never forget the smile on his mother's face. She'd slept for fifteen hours straight right after that.

So, no, Potions class was not a waste of time, nor was it boring. He'd seen how the right one could save a life. Truth be told, he enjoyed Transfigurations class quite a bit more, if only because Professor Dumbledore was so good at teaching, but then again, everyone loved Transfigurations class.

Now, however, was the time to head down to the Dungeons and spend the next forty-five minutes sweating over a cauldron, trying not to pass out from breathing in toxic fumes. The prospect of that sounded much more entertaining than it really was, as his fellow Hufflepuff Vera Diggory could testify; she'd just keeled over one fine afternoon, breaking her nose in the process. Some of the other students had laughed at this, which Leta had found quite distasteful, but Newt had reminded her that when folks were confronted with something unexpected, laughter was often an automatic response to deal with it. He was sure nobody meant poor Vera any harm.

Leta caught up with him as the rather large group of students were trudging down the stone stairs into the bowels of the castle, the sound of their steps echoing and bouncing off the walls and arched ceiling. The air was perpetually humid down there, chilly, and it smelled a bit of moss. It was not unpleasant, though. "Missed you at lunch," she told him, cracking a broad and lovely smile as she wiggled and elbowed and shouldered her way to his side.

He couldn't help but smile right back. His face got a little warm. "Well, I had some detention work to do for Professor Prewett and wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible."

Her thin eyebrows wandered up. "Tried to smuggle anti-coagulant herbs to those wild thestrals again?"

Looking down at his shoes and shrugging, he said, "Someone's got to."

"One day, you're going to get into some serious trouble," she said, briefly touching his elbow.

Oh, lovely, his face got even warmer. Chalky as his complexion was, he was probably looking pretty red by now. Discreetly, he cleared his throat. They were down their last flight of stairs, heading down the cramped corridor that led to the Potion Master's classroom. Calling it a dungeon just seemed weirdly macabre to Newt, but then again, he didn't know what this place had been used for in past centuries. Maybe the name was appropriate. Maybe it was an in-joke? This part of the castle certainly was rather confining. "I'd rather get in trouble than let something bad happen to anyone I care about," he said, briefly glancing at her.

"And it's just so sweet that you refer to thestrals as 'someone' who you care about."

They filed into the classroom slowly, reluctantly, taking up their usual positions at the big, heavy, wooden tables. It always smelled a little of sulphur in here, didn't it? It also took the eyes a moment to adjust to the different lighting. If the Dungeons had one thing going for them, it was atmosphere.

Professor Calandra Veridian, descendant of _the_ Vindictus Veridian, was already standing behind her desk, watching the students lazily amble to their cauldrons with little interest. She wasn't much of a pedagogue, but she really loved her craft with a vengeance, which was to be admired. It was always inspiring to be around people who were passionate about their work. Once everyone had finally got to where they were supposed to be, she said, "Good afternoon, class. Today, we'll finally try our hands at that calming draught. Now, I want you to work in teams of four." Murmurs erupted throughout the classroom. Veridian raised her long-fingered, pale hands to make the students go quiet, to limited success. "Team up with the pair sharing your table. It's a rather complex process, and I'm told that complicated processes lend themselves well to team-building exercises."

Oh, great. Perfect. Newt exchanged a meaningful look with Leta, who didn't look happy in the slightest. Their direct neighbours were Slytherins Celestia Prewett – Professor Prewett's daughter – and Alastair Fawley. These two weren't terrible people, per se, but they weren't the nicest ones around, either. The fact that they were Slytherins didn't help much, since members of that House shared a rather unpleasant habit of looking down on Hufflepuffs. What sold Newt on their unpleasantness, however, was that they obviously didn't like Leta just because she hadn't been sorted into their House as Lestranges usually were. It wasn't anything they did, precisely, but the way they looked at her and whispered with their Black and Malfoy and Rosier and Notte and whoever else friends when Leta was close. It was hard to watch, because Leta already had a hard time fitting in with her own housemates, even almost five years into her Hogwarts career. Hufflepuffs were wary of her because of her family name, and Slytherins were disdainful of her because of her renegade status. It wasn't fair. One should never simply sit in judgment over a person. Actions could be judged, but dismissing someone due to their relatives or their social status was just mean-spirited and petty.

Also, this was about Leta, and Newt would do almost anything to keep her from harm.

"All right, then," Alastair Fawley said, that dishonest politician's smile he liked wearing so much plastered all over his sharp-angled, pointy, bony, pale face. He looked like he didn't even know what sunshine was supposed to be, what with his eerily pasty complexion that contrasted oddly with his pitch-black, short, neatly side-combed hair. He grabbed his textbook, circumvented the table, and planted himself in front of Leta, who was eyeing him with a healthy degree of caution. "Let's get started. Hufflepuffs, you're about to witness the miracle of competent potion-making. Please observe and be appropriately awed."

"You do realise that Newt is a lot better at potions than you are, don't you, Fawley?" Leta replied icily, opening her own textbook and paging through it slowly.

Newt could see that her hands were trembling a bit. It was a habit of hers, fussing with something when she got upset or nervous, to keep other people from noticing.

"He was just trying to be funny, Lestrange; calm yourself," Celestia said, placing herself so close to Alastair that their arms were touching. They exchanged a smiling, knowing little look. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she started twirling a strand of her messily pinned up, ruddy-brown hair around her left index finger. She and Alastair should just drop the masquerade. Everyone knew that they were a couple, and nobody really cared much. "So, how do we start?"

"Perhaps your boyfriend could conjure some water – you know, actually make himself useful for once," Leta snapped at her. This was atypical. All right, she did snap at people from time to time, but not without being provoked, first. Something was going on with her that didn't have anything to do with either Alastair Fawley or Celestia Prewett.

"Boyfriend?" Alastair said, and whistled lowly. "My, aren't we modern in our vernacular? Though I must admit, I rather like the term. You Yanks really do have things to contribute." He frowned a little. "It _is_ a Yank term, isn't it? I don't really keep up with fads."

"American, please, darling. Don't be rude," Celestia chided playfully, and nudged him with her bony elbow. That had to hurt. He was only skin and bones, after all. He didn't seem to mind, thought. "Also, she's only half American, so be fair."

"I'm always fair. Now, if you'd excuse me, I must impress you mere mortals with my astonishing spell-casting abilities. Prepare to be dazzled. Autograph signing hours to be announced." Without waiting for a reply, he produced his wand out of his robes and pointed it at the cauldron. " _Aguamenti_." It filled with water. " _Incendio_." Under the cauldron, a small fire erupted. Alastair cracked a toothy smile at Leta. "Does this meet with your approval, distant cousin of mine?"

Leta briefly glared at him before picking up her book and stomping away to get the ingredients for the potion.

Celestia exchanged another meaningful look with Alastair before saying, "I better go help her. She only has one free hand, after all," and hurried after Leta.

Newt watched them go in silence. Oh yes, something was definitely wrong, and he was determined to find out what. After all, what kind of a friend would he be if he didn't do everything in his power to help one of the most important people in his life?

* * *

 **2** **They were sitting side by side at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, Leta and Newt,** and she had been listlessly poking her shepherd's pie with her fork for a good fifteen minutes now, staring gloomily at nothing in particular. The look on her face wasn't particularly inviting, either. It was a thin line to tread, knowing when to ask questions and when to just give a person some space.

Still, if he didn't ask, he'd never know. "What's going on with you?"

"Hm?" She blinked, sat up straight, gave him a strained little smile. "With me? Nothing."

He briefly looked away, considered his next words carefully, and braced himself for opposition, before saying, "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't talk about it, but you should know that I can tell when you're lying."

A few second ticked by before anything happened, but then, she dropped her fork, rubbed at her eyes, and exhaled deeply. She then leaned back, crossed her arms, and glowered at the Slytherin table. "My father is making me attend a…well, certain social function at Malfoy Manor this Christmas, and it'll be even worse than I first thought. Some of the clowns over there will attend, too, and I just _know_ it's going to be hellish. Fawley and Malfoy have been dropping hints every time they pass me in the corridors or a classroom or wherever." She closed her eyes for a moment. "They just don't understand why I don't want to be part of their elite little club, and that makes them angry."

Never mind that she was obviously skittish about whatever this event was supposed to be – a Yule Ball, perhaps? It didn't really matter. What mattered was that she was obviously being harassed, and that no-one was doing a thing to stop it. He half-turned to be able to look at her better. "What have they been saying to you?"

The hall was positively crowded. The sound of people talking and plates clattering and cutlery and glasses clanking filled the cavernous space, and no-one was paying attention to Leta and Newt anyway, but she still leaned in closer and lowered her voice when she said, "It's nothing I can't deal with – really." The last bit she added when she clearly saw the disbelief on his face. "It just makes me so uncomfortable, being forced to spend time with the likes of them." She pressed her full lips together and broke off eye-contact. "The worst thing is, you won't be there for moral support. I'll be on my own in the snake pit, with no chance of escape."

Despite the seriousness of her complaint, he couldn't help but smile a little at her last remark. He briefly pondered taking her hand, but decided against it. "I know it can be tough, being who you are, but the world would be a much greyer place without you in it. Don't let them drag you down." Had that been too much? Had he just embarrassed himself? It was often difficult to tell what words were appropriate and what words were not.

She looked at him again, though, and smiled warmly. "Thank you." Then, before he knew it, she covered his hand with her own. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her big brown eyes were shining in the light of the floating candles.

He didn't think he'd ever felt so in tune with another person before. Returning her expression, he slowly intertwined his fingers with hers, feeling warmth creeping up his face when she didn't recoil. "Anytime."

* * *

 **3** **The next afternoon, he was in the library doing research for a Herbology project by himself.** It was nice and quiet in there, and he'd always loved the smell of old books. It reminded him of his earliest childhood, and brought about a myriad of warm, pleasant, blurry but highly nostalgic memories. It wasn't as if small children didn't have fears and worries of problems of their own, but at sixteen years old, he had to admit that the world was becoming more complex by the day. That was one of the reasons he didn't mix with people much, and why he felt so much more comfortable interacting with magical creatures. They were a lot less complicated, not to mention devoid of any ambiguous agendas.

It was different with Leta, though. She was one of the most complex individuals he'd ever met, and she could be very complicated, but just being in the same room as her made everything easier to deal with.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and told himself to focus. Now was not the time for _that_. Now was the time to study. Professor Prewett was cross with him already – no need to make a tense situation even worse.

That was when he heard steps approaching his desk and looked up, blinking in the slanted rays of pale winter sunshine that was coming in through the tinted glass of the thick windows. Dust motes were dancing merrily in the air. It was a pretty, calming sight. He watched Celestia Prewett, of all people, walk right up to him and give him a pained little smile. Was that supposed to be reassuring? Friendly? It was impossible to tell.

"May I sit down?" she said lowly, and pointed at the free chair opposite him. He only nodded, and she took a seat, adjusting her skirt and long sleeves of her robes. "So…are you all right?"

For a few seconds, he just stared back at her, dumbfounded. What was happening? "Er…yes. Thank you."

She nodded slowly, chewing on her lower lip, not quite looking him in the eye. "Look, erm, Scamander. Newt." She folded her hands on the table-top and leaned in a little. "You seem like a pretty decent chap. I know we're not exactly friends, but I don't have anything against you or any of you Hufflepuffs. You never did anything to me. Most of you are nice people."

"That…that is good to know." What was he supposed to say to that? What was she even doing? This was so strange.

Again, she nodded. "Right. So, I just wanted to let you know that I really don't think it's all right what the boys are planning. I'm not, er…" She trailed off, scratched her neck, and snickered awkwardly. "I'm not on very good terms with Leta, and she clearly hates me, which…well, isn't exactly for no reason. I get that. Anyway, would you tell her to watch her back at the Yule Ball? You know, at Malfoy Manor."

He straightened up. His throat constricted. Acid sloshed in his stomach. "What does that mean?"

She squinted at him as if she were expecting to be spat on. "I'm not entirely sure, myself. Let's just say that the boys adhere to a strict 'if you're not with us, you're our enemy' mentality. Leta hasn't exactly shown any inclination that she wants to belong, so…yes. I don't think she'll have a very good time in Wiltshire."

'The boys'. Hm. 'The hell-spawn' would probably be a more appropriate moniker. "Why don't you put a stop to it, whatever it is, if you don't approve?"

"I can't. I'll try, but I'm in the minority."

Was he supposed to feel sympathy? "You should be talking to your friends, to their parents, and to Leta, too – not me."

"She won't listen to me, but you? If she listens to anyone, it's you; that's obvious to anyone with half a brain," she said, pushed her chair back, and got to her feet. The look on her face was pretty wretched. "Just…maybe tell her that it would be better if she just gave up trying to be a rebel. It never does anyone any good." She just spun around on her heels and marched away, leaving Newt to watch her leave, in mute astonishment.

Whatever those Slytherin boys were planning, it had to be bad. Celestia had never lifted a finger to defend Leta against all the prejudice before. If she was willing to walk up to Newt and actively insist that he warn Leta, then it must be serious. Well, they wouldn't be able to hurt his friend if he had any say in it. Of course, he had no idea how to stop whatever scheme (was that too melodramatic? He had no idea. A bit more information from Celestia would have been appreciated!) was being planned, but he'd stop it somehow.


	4. The Thin Red Line

**The Thin Red Line**

 **1925**

 **1** **Smoke in the air. Lights flickering. Someone coughed – Celestia herself.** What was _happening_? Arm side head hip in _agony_. Couldn't move. Why couldn't she-

Black-out.

Someone calling her name – again, again, louder. No. Too much pain. Too much. No.

"Tia? _Tia!_ Open your damn eyes! _We need to go!_ "

Eyelids so heavy. Like trying to move through syrup. She blinked. Everything was blurred. A haggard, freckled face framed by short, carroty hair stared down at her. " _Nana_? What-"

Black-out.

Blinding, searing torture coursed through Celestia's body. Cracking sounds. Her broken bones mended themselves. She uttered a blood-curdling cry, thrashed-

Black-out.

She came to half walking, half being dragged, her older sister Nocturna supporting her with relative ease. "Nana? What is…where…"

"Sh. It's all right. We'll be able to apparate outside," Nocturna said right into Celestia's ear. "Come on, now. I need you to help me-"

Black-out.

Stairs. She was tripping, dragging her feet. Her whole body was hurting, shaking, bogged down heavy unwieldy where was all the smoke coming from screams stench of blood oh God she gagged-

Black-out.

Fresh air. Cold. Sunshine. Felt like heaven.

"Hold on, love," Nocturna said, and hugged Celestia around the waist. "This'll be unpleasant in your condition."

The world distorted and fell away as they apparated to safety.

* * *

 **2** **She came to gradually, unwillingly, preferring to stay in the lovely blackness of being knocked out.** Sadly, though, her consciousness was dragged to the surface, and she found herself in her sore and aching body, lying on a bed in a dimly lit room. It smelled of wood and varnish. She could hear heavy rain pattering against the shuttered window. Wow, did the weather always change this quickly in New York?

Then again, maybe she'd been unconscious for several hours. There was only one way to tell.

Slowly and carefully, she pushed herself into a sitting position, gnashing her teeth and seeing stars and shaking badly. Her head was pounding, her stomach lurching. Well, she had taken quite a beating at the MACUSA building.

The memory sent an icy jolt of adrenaline through her veins. Nocturna! She'd attacked the MACUSA headquarters with what had to be either a very potent element of surprise or a small army to bust her out. How had she known that Celestia would be there? _Had_ she even known? How had she even got to America? What the _hell_ was going on?

After three unsuccessful tries that nearly got her falling face-first on the wooden floor, Celestia managed to get to her rubbery legs. The stars and black spots in front of her eyes made her almost blind for a few seconds, but then faded, as did most of the nausea. Feeling like an ancient crone trapped in a crumbling fortress, she lurched to the door, then onto a nearly dark corridor, toward the only room were a considerable amount of light was coming from. It was a living room of sorts, small and cramped with ratty furniture (incidentally, it was dark outside, so she really had been out for most of the day), on which sat five people: Nocturna, one person she didn't know, Leta Lestrange, and…

…oh, dear.

It was the Malfoy brothers, Apollo and Ares.

Everyone was looking at her. Luckily, she wasn't the blushing type. It was important to always be thankful for small blessings, so one didn't lose sight of the big ones – one of Mother's favourite sayings, and it was a good one in Celestia's opinion. "Good evening." She was, however, the type to not be able to verbally improvise very well.

"Tia," Nocturna said, looking worried. She jumped to her feet and hurried to where Celestia was, before leading her to the moth-eaten reddish divan she'd been previously occupying and helping her sit to Leta's left. "Here. Let me get you some tea." Immediately, she dashed off toward wherever this place's kitchen was.

"How are you feeling?" Apollo asked, his tone level and polite as always. People had trouble telling him and Ares apart, because they were almost the same age and eerily similar to each other in appearance, but Celestia knew both of them well enough to not suffer from that particular malady.

Besides, she and Apollo had been married for three years, so there was always that. Her throat went dry. Her thoughts started to go where they shouldn't, wanting badly to dwell on a sweet little girl with fair hair and blue eyes and the cutest dimples and…no. No, this was the price Celestia had paid for following her heart. She'd made her decision then; she wasn't about to allow herself to question it now. Dwelling on sorrow never did anyone any good – not ever. She folded her hands on her lap, wishing she'd straightened her crumpled green dress out with a spell, before remembering that both her wand and her briefcase were gone. "I'm all right." After a couple of seconds, she remembered to add, "Thank you. I hope you all are, too." Getting smashed into a wall had done a bit of a trick on her cognitive abilities, it seemed.

"We're just glad we got to you in time," Leta said, smiling impishly.

Well, if Celestia had broken into the MACUSA headquarters and got someone out who was about to be sent home anyway, she'd be chipper, too. Sighing inwardly, she told herself to quit the useless, wry internal commentary, already. The answers would certainly come sooner rather than later. There was no need to panic. She looked at the only person she didn't know – a youthful, short, thin woman who wore her dark-brown hair piled up on her head in a rather old-fashioned bun and who was wearing a grey suit. "May I ask who you are, miss?"

The woman, who was reclining in her armchair in the most relaxed manner, came across as someone at a social gathering in a pub rather than a person caught in a serious post-ambush situation. "I'm Ethel," she said, tipping one finger to her temple in a lazy salute. "Nice meeting ya."

Oh. A local, then. Well, why not? Ignoring her rather nasty headache, Celestia subtly inclined her head in acknowledgment. "How do you do?"

"Great. It was pretty nifty, what we pulled off." She grinned, uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, and wagged her eyebrows. "You're welcome."

"I dearly hope you didn't break into the MACUSA building just to get me; they were going to let me go."

"It was a lucky coincidence, in a sense," Ares said, barely looking at her. He was visibly tense, sitting straight and drumming on his thighs with his fingertips.

"We were planning to do it anyway, but got the tip about you from an inside source, actually," Nocturna said, returning with a mug in her hands. She wedged herself between Leta and Celestia and handed the mug to the latter. "Here you go, love. Drink."

It was so, so strange to be here, amongst these people she hadn't seen in a good long while, completely in the dark about what was going on. What had they been _doing_ there? Who was the inside source? Had Newt really ratted her out to the authorities? What was even going on? Everyone knew that Nocturna was a Grindelwald ally, yes, and she'd been off the grid for two years, so it was obvious that her political agenda was her prime motivator, and…

…for crying out loud! Did it even matter? This was her sister! This was her sister, and she was here. She was actually here. It wasn't as if Celestia didn't care about the well-being of the others, but sitting next to her older sister made her almost give into the temptation of bursting into tears. There was a knot in her throat, and she had to blink, fight for poise. This was happening. Nocturna was really here, right next to her. She looked haggard and worn, her short hair was brittle and she had dark rings under her eyes, but she was alive and she was _here_.

Celestia couldn't help it; her vision grew blurry and she sniffled. Mortified, she stared into her mug and breathed in the fragrant aroma of herbal tea. It was the one Nocturna always made when she thought someone was in need of being nursed. The scent brought back so many memories. "I apologise," she said quietly.

"It's all right, pet," Nocturna said, putting an arm around Celestia's shoulders and placing a brief kiss on her cheek. "You're safe. Don't you worry about a thing." That was so typical of her. She always did her best to shield Celestia from pain.

It wasn't all right, though – not by a long shot. Fighting to get her composure back, Celestia sipped some of her tea. "Why did you attack the MACUSA?"

"You don't need to worry about that," Nocturna said, and from the corner of her eye, Celestia could see her shoot a warning glance at Ares. "Just know that they had no intention of letting you go, because-"

"But that Graves fellow told me-"

" _Because_ they knew you wouldn't stop looking for the frozen heart, and under no circumstances can they let you have it."

A small silence ensued.

Celestia shifted her weight so she could get a proper look at her sister. "I've been looking for this thing for almost a year, and yet, everyone here seems to know more about it than I do. What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing you need to know."

"I beg to differ, _Ares_ ," Celestia countered, an edge to her voice as she glowered at her erstwhile brother-in-law. "I'm a fugitive from the law, now, and associated with a group of zealots working for Gellert Grindelwald. I do believe that I deserve at least some answers."

"Doll's got a point," Ethel said, shrugging when Ares gave her one of his patented death glares. "What? Do I got something on my teeth?"

Of course he didn't deign to answer her, but then again, he _was_ overly selective about who he chose to interact with.

"The artefact you're looking for is a lot more powerful than your…friend has led you to believe," Apollo said, that typical solicitous expression on his face, his tone calm and level. It was hard to faze him.

His oblique mention of Newt, however, made her stomach pang. It was all she could do not to glance at Leta, who was sat at Nocturna's right side. "I don't care how powerful it is or what your kind might want with it. I _need_ it."

A muscle in Apollo's cheek twitched, but other than that, he remained outwardly unfazed. "Of course. Your bunch of Fawleys can't wait forever."

"We don't want to beat you to it and keep you from using it," Nocturna said, and gave Celestia's shoulders a squeeze. "We understand your plight and share your concerns – all of us."

Apollo and Ares shared a look. "Of course," the former said.

Celestia suddenly felt the nigh-on irresistible urge to chuck her tea mug at his head. Here they were, ignoring the elephant in the room that was the unnameable price she'd had to pay for being allowed to leave him, that was the one person she dared not think about for fear of coming completely undone, and he got _snooty_? _Really?_ How dare he? How _dare_ he take the liberty of-

She interrupted herself in her own mind, made herself unclench her teeth and relax the muscles in her face, neck, and shoulders. No need to bring any more tension into this already stressful mess. "So what _do_ you want?"

"Easy," Ethel said, serene, and winked when Celestia faced her. "Team up, get the stupid thing, and solve all our problems. How's that sound, princess?"

Naturally, Celestia just had to think of Newt. He'd warned her about how dangerous the frozen heart could be if misused, how much death and destruction it could cause. He'd never elaborated on it much, only telling her that he believed it could only be used in cooperation with the _Hibernus Horridus_ , and only in a limited capacity. But how…

…oh, it didn't matter! These were people with skills and with determination and, she assumed, not many scruples, who wanted the same thing she did – in a way, at least. _So what_ if she had to make a pact with the devil in order to get done what she so desperately needed? Desperate times did indeed call for desperate measures.

She thought of Alastair, about the state he'd been in when she'd been forced to leave, about how he wasn't here with her, about how his time was running out. Her throat constricted. Her breath hitched in her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a few deep breaths, marvelled at how hard it had become to keep her emotions under control. There were still so many questions rattling about in her head, but she already knew that she was going to say yes to Nocturna and the others. Her choices were limited, and she _could simply not give up_ , no matter how difficult it got, no matter how drained of energy and strength she might feel. Nothing else mattered apart from her completing this quest successfully. Failure was not an option.

Her little girl might be lost to her forever, but she could still save everyone else. If that thought didn't give her the strength to carry on, then nothing ever could.

When she opened her eyes, they were dry. "You can count on me."

Nocturna laughed, and it sounded so carefree, so jolly, _so like her_ , it was like a sting in the heart. "I knew it! Finally!" She kissed her sister's cheek again.

"You'll have to commit to the cause, though," Ares said, clearly neither convinced nor enthusiastic. "Our mission is much more important than the few lives you want to save."

"Not to me," Celestia said coolly, raising her carefully plucked eyebrows at him. "But you already knew that. I will help you if you will help me. The Fawleys will live and I will do what I can to help you spread the message that wizards are done hiding from Muggles."

"Nice summary. At least you don't have to keep pretending you don't sympathise, huh?"

Celestia gave Ethel a little smile. "I never much approved of any secrecy statutes, anyway." She'd once promised herself not to get involved in this conflict, but in truth, it was rather impossible to stay on the fence, not to mention cowardly. No, she did not approve of innocents suffering, but maybe she could convince herself that what Nocturna had once said was right: that this was all governmental propaganda, and that Grindelwald's Army were freedom fighters and not murderers.

Truth be told, it was hard to picture bubbly Nana murdering anyone. That was almost as hard as shutting up the objecting voices in her mind. All that mattered was that she save the Fawleys – her Fawleys. Everything else was secondary. This she had learned to believe by reciting it to herself over and over, in her mind, like a prayer.

"So, how is he doing?" That was Leta, speaking quietly. "Newt."

"He's fine," Celestia said, her voice a little thin. She briefly felt the urge to go hide in some other room. How very ridiculous. "He's travelling the world and doing his research, like he always wanted."

"It _is_ what he always dreamed about," Leta said warmly, somewhat wistful. "Good for him."

"Yes." Celestia resumed staring into the mug she was cradling with both hands. "Good for him."


	5. Fortune Favours the Bold

**Fortune Favours the Bold**

 **1913**

 **1** **"She said _what_?" Leta was glaring at Newt out of narrowed eyes, her usually light-brown complexion flushed.** They were in the middle of the Hufflepuff Basement common room, with a considerably large group of people lounging on the overstuffed, yellow-and-black upholstered armchairs and sofas, chatting amongst themselves, reading, or catching up on homework. A few were writing letters, presumably to their families. Some looked up when Leta raised her voice. She really was smack in the middle of the round, low-ceilinged room, the magical illusion of bright sunlight that came in through the oval windows illuminating her like a spotlight. She didn't care, though; when she was angry, her surroundings always ceased to matter to her.

Trying not to show how self-conscious being put on display like this made him feel, since he didn't want to exacerbate her outrage, he said, "She seemed genuinely worried that something unpleasant might happen to you," not quite looking her in the eye.

"And she couldn't tell it to my face? Or make that hook-nosed vulture she fawns over just, I don't know, _not follow through on whatever the hell he's planning?_ " She almost shouted this, throwing her hands up in frustration. People were definitely pretending not to watch them, now.

Being familiar with her, he wisely did not make the mistake of asking her to take a deep breath and calm down. If there was one thing she never reacted well to, it was when someone condescended to her; that was never his intention, anyway. "To be fair, I probably would hesitate, too, were I in her place." Squinting at her as if he expected her to hex him, he added, "She thinks you hate her and is a bit afraid of you, if I'm not terribly mistaken. Maybe if you talk to her, it'll help?"

She snorted derisively and crossed her arms below her chest, before glowering at him. "Like I'm ever gonna grovel before the feet of a Slytherin Pureblood who thumbs her pointy nose at me every time I happen to walk by. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be forced by my family to attend those snooty official functions and just be ignored or laughed at _every single time?_ "

"Well, no. No, I don't." He pressed the knuckles of his right hand to his lips and discreetly cleared his throat.

"Then don't tell me to go talk to Celestia Prewett!" She laughed, and it was an unpleasant, hostile sound. "The ridiculous names those people have!"

"Don't forget that her father is one of us, and-"

" _I don't care!_ She takes after the Black side of her family, then! That girl's never done anything nice to me _in her life_ , and now I'm supposed to trust her? I'm supposed to ask for her help? _No!_ "

He realised that she was snapping at him because being upset made her go into defensive mode, and that it wasn't personal. Being shunned by peers like she was would make anyone bitter. The thing was, it hurt to see her like this; it hurt quite a bit. Bracing himself for resistance, he stepped a little closer to her and – his heart thundering – reached out to very briefly touch her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything." Then, after taking one close look at him, she all but deflated. Her shoulders slumped, the anger drained from her expression, and she sighed. "Don't listen to me. I'm the one who should be apologising to you. You're just being a good friend."

"I am a good friend," he said, smiling a little.

The light in the room became even brighter when she returned the expression. "I've been thinking. What would you say if I told you that I'm allowed to bring a friend to the Yule Ball? Would you be terribly inclined to run for the hills? Given the fact that it's at Malfoy Manor." After making a face as she spoke the name, she uncrossed her arms and reached out to take his hands – hesitantly at first, but with more confidence when he didn't recoil.

Meanwhile, he was perfectly aware that his face must be red as a tomato by now. "Are you being serious?"

She nodded eagerly. "I am. When you came in here to tell me about your run-in with _Celestia_ , I was gonna tell you that I spoke to my father over the fireplace. He told me I could bring a plus one if it made me happy, and I blurted out your name before I even realised what I was doing." Her smile broadened. It was such a captivating sight. "He said yes. Will you not go with me? I'm sure nothing bad can happen if we're there together, and I won't be forced to admit defeat by asking that horrid Prewett girl for help."

A little voice in the back of his mind told him that she was being a bit too prideful, and that Celestia hadn't seemed horrid at all but rather concerned, but this was all drowned out by an overwhelming wave of happiness. It didn't matter that he was red in the face. It didn't matter that everyone in here now knew about the sordid affair. All that mattered was that Leta was holding his hands and that when told that she could choose any person to be her plus one at a social gathering, his name had been the one to automatically pop up in her mind. He wasn't much interested in grand, high-brow events involving prestigious wizarding families, granted, but that didn't matter, either. He'd be there with _her_.

"I'll go with you," he said quietly, smiling. The two of them might as well be the only people in the room, in the castle, in the county, on the planet. "Gladly, I'll go with you."

"Oh, thank you!" Abruptly, she let go of his hands and hugged him around the neck.

After a moment's hesitation, he very carefully put his arms around her delicate waist. Her skin smelled sweetly, somewhat like cinnamon. He closed his eyes. This was happiness, wasn't it? It had to be.

* * *

 **2** **"Dearest Miss Prewett, what stories I have heard about you! Hardly to be believed, and yet,** the irksome voice of doubt nags at my poor, tortured mind, dejectedly whispering, 'could it be'?" Alastair plopped himself on the chair next to Celestia, facing her, giving her a look so mockingly tortured, she couldn't help but snicker.

"Go annoy someone else with your horrible attempts at drama," she said, not even trying to sound like she meant it, but pretended to be focussed on her History of Magic homework all the same.

They were in the relatively quiet Slytherin common room. A good chunk of their housemates was at the Quidditch pitch, watching the team train, but neither Alastair nor Celestia cared much for sports, nor had they ever shown any aptitude for Quidditch in particular. They'd of course cheer for their team during matches, but freezing their toes off out there to watch them train was asking too much.

"Do you not wish to find out what has me clutching my pearls so badly?"

She made a face at him. "That was _so_ bad."

"I know," he said, wagged his eyebrows, and briefly kissed her lips. "Anyway, I hear that you, my lovely, have been entertaining intimate conversations with Hufflepuff hippogriff."

"Don't call him that," she said, lightly punching his bony shoulder. "And there was nothing mysterious going on, there. I just asked him to tell Leta Lestrange that she should watch her back at the Yule Ball."

It was his turn to grimace. "Seriously? You just ruined all our fun. Now Apollo and I will have to improvise."

Shifting her weight on the chair in order to be able to look at him properly, she said, "Can't you just leave her alone? She's harmless."

"No," he said, stretching the syllable, and took her hands into his. His skin was always so much warmer than hers, that to her it felt like he was constantly sporting a fever. "No, we can't just leave her alone, because she is an arrogant, snotty brat who constantly sours every single party of ours she attends."

"Alley…"

He shook his head, suddenly serious. "It won't be terrible. All we want is to give her a slap on the wrist, remind her that she's not, in fact, queen of us underlings. Maybe she'll get the message and come around, stop being so annoying."

She pressed her lips together and broke off eye-contact. "I don't think it's a good idea. I think this will backfire badly."

"Relax, darling," he said, and gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I've got it all under control."

* * *

 **3** **It was really cold – cold enough for the frozen grass to crunch under booted feet –** but thankfully sunny when Celestia made her way from the castle to the greenhouses, where her father's office was. His family and Mother's – the Prewetts and the Blacks – had arranged their marriage for a number of reasons, the most important of them being that Estella Black and Morgan Prewett were only barely related to each other. This was a bit of an issue for Pureblood families: after so many centuries of interbreeding, most of them (if not all of them) were related by blood. It was important that family lines continued and that they be kept pure, and so, it usually took copious studies of family trees to find two people who could breed healthy offspring and keep certain names from dying out.

Estella was a little older than Morgan, and had been hesitantly courted by a Notte boy at first, but she'd not objected to her parents' plans once they took shape – nobody did. That was what was best for the families, and family was the most important thing in a wizard or witch's life. Luckily, Estella and Morgan were highly compatible and developed a good relationship very early into their marriage. Their first child, Nocturna Prewett, was born a year later; Celestia followed three years after that. Celestia herself was glad to have found someone to love deeply as early as her Hogwarts years, especially because she and Alastair were not too closely related; all right, he was her third cousin on the Black family side, her second one, once removed, via the Prewetts, but that wasn't too bad. They hadn't even known each other very well as children. Neither of their parents had so far objected to the relationship, which was definitely a good sign.

She was also very glad to have her father around at school, given the fact that as a little child, she only ever got to see him on weekends and during the holidays. Sometimes, she, Nana, and Mother visited the old castle and stayed with Father for a week or even a fortnight. Those were the best times. Hogwarts was an amazing place filled with unlimited potential for adventure, and neither Nana nor Celestia could wait for the time to come when they'd finally be allowed to attend the school.

Now, the roles were reversed: Celestia saw Father almost every day, but Mother only on weekends and over the holidays. Nana had left England after her graduation and was learning dragonlore somewhere in Eastern Europe (sometimes Romania, sometimes the European portion of the Russian Empire). She wrote letters, but that wasn't the same. Celestia hadn't seen her for three years, now, and it hurt to think about how carefree their childhood had been.

Pulling her cloak closely around her shivering body, Celestia marched across the field, down the slope to the greenhouse in question. Inside, it was a good deal warmer, which felt like heaven, even though the air was very humid. The high, slanted windows and the domed glass ceiling let the pale sunshine in, and it fell on the many rows of potted plants in thick beams. She smiled as she made her way toward the back of the building, where Father's office was. The air smelled green and earthy and alive. It was a scent she'd always associate with excitement and happiness, no matter how old she got.

Right in front of the door, someone was waiting, leaning against the wall, face almost buried in a thin, cracked, well-read little book. It was Newt Scamander, who didn't even notice he wasn't alone anymore.

Celestia stopped a few paces away from him, unsure of how to proceed. A few days had gone by since she'd gathered all her courage and talked to him about whatever prank Alastair and Apollo were planning to pull on Leta Lestrange during the Yule Ball. She knew it was pretty cowardly, but she always had difficulties addressing people who very clearly had no fondness for her – and this was her being euphemistic in the case of Leta and her sweetheart. He seemed like a nice boy; he certainly was pleasant enough. Still, he obviously didn't like Celestia or any of the Slytherins, and it showed. Hufflepuffs in general avoided Slytherins, but Leta's hostility had undoubtedly influenced Newt, even though he didn't have any concrete reason to dislike Celestia and her friends.

But that was loyalty, wasn't it? To take the side of someone beloved, no matter what? It was definitely an understandable, human reaction.

Finally, feeling silly and childish, she said, "Are you waiting to speak to my father?"

A bit startled, he looked up, but then tried to smile a little when he saw her. It seemed to be his go-to response to being talked to by people who weren't Leta. "Oh. Yes. Yes, I am. He asked me to be here at eight."

"It's the end of your detention?" she said. He nodded, and so did she. "Good. So, erm…what are you reading, then?"

He blinked at her twice, obviously still shaking off the concentration-induced trance. From what she'd been able to observe, so far, he was a bit of a dreamer; he was always sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to interact with a variety of scary or repulsive animals or, alternatively, with his face glued to a book about them. It was admirable, this fascination he had for the study of magical beasts. This was something rather alien to most of his peers – well, most of everybody, really. "I'm reading a book about the _Hibernus Horridus_."

"Ah," she made, briefly considered pretending that she had any idea what that was, and then decided against it. "What's that?"

After wiping some of his unruly, reddish hair from his forehead, he held the book up so she could see the misshapen, white-blue scaly monster thing drawn on its leather cover. "It's a mystical creature that's related to dragons, although the author posits that it might actually be a mammal. It's believed to have been hunted to extinction five centuries ago, although I doubt that that's true; at least I don't want it to be true."

Grimacing a little, she said, "Looks and sounds terrible. I'm sure people had a good reason to hunt these things?"

The look he gave her was sad, almost a little disappointed, but then again, maybe she was projecting. "It's said that in extreme situations, the Hiberni develop the ability to project their strength and energy into their hearts, and create a replica of that outside of their bodies – you know, every time their species gets threatened too badly. Those materialised projections, the frozen hearts, allegedly have great power for destruction, which is one of the reasons the poor beats were hunted far and wide." He cleared his throat. "You know."

She didn't know, but also didn't want to come across as rude, especially since he was making an effort to answer her questions politely. "What good does that do _them_?"

"Well," he said, perking up, smiling again, a spark in his eyes. This was a boy in his element, and no mistake. "It keeps their species alive even if they die. The heart materialises in a hidden place and remains frozen and functional for about two years. If it's re-united with a dead Hibernus's body during that time, it'll revive the beast and, incidentally, reverse all the damage that it might have caused with its powers."

"What do these things _do_?" This was almost like attending a lecture – pretty fascinating stuff, to be honest.

"They spit cold and freeze people."

"So they are, I mean they were monsters who froze people to death and who could keep alive even after they were killed. Doesn't sound like the perfect pet to me."

"That's because they're not meant to be pets. Besides, the freezing doesn't kill instantly; it takes a good long while, according to the book, and the Hiberni only used it to defend themselves in extreme situations." Almost defiantly, he added, "They're not dangerous."

"Comforting to the frozen people and their loved ones," she said, and briefly looked down at her shoes. "I apologise. I didn't meant to be rude."

"It's all right."

An awkward little silence ensued.

Finally, she could take it no longer. "So…have you spoken to Leta about, er…about what I told you?"

"I have."

Was there more coming, or was she supposed to guess? She crossed her arms in an attempt to warm her numb, clammy fingers. "What did she say?"

He wasn't quite looking her in the eye when he replied, "She wasn't very happy."

"Nobody is happy about this, so she's in good company." She chewed on her lower lip. "I'll talk to the boys again."

"I hope it helps, because if it doesn't, Leta won't take any bullying without defending herself."

Why did people have to be so obstinate? Why couldn't they all just sit down and talk to each other in a civilised manner? It was to despair. "I'm sure she won't."

That was when the back door to the greenhouse was opened; it must be Father. Thank God. Continuing to fumble with words regarding the awkward subject of Leta Lestrange was not something Celestia considered to be high entertainment.


	6. You're the Other Side of the World to Me

**A/N: Thank you everyone who chose to follow this story and thank you to those who chose to leave a comment. It matters a lot to me. Getting feedback is kind of the point of publishing online. It's the only way I can become a better writer. I hope you keep enjoying this little tale of woe! **

* * *

**You're the Other Side of the World to Me**

 **1925**

 **1** **"So what's the plan here, Nana?" Celestia and Nocturna were in the crummy flat's kitchen, and the former was watching the latter brew some tea.** It was the next morning, and everyone else was…well, _somewhere_ else. Sleeping? Celestia had no idea and no intention of asking. The less she knew, the better – the safer for everyone involved. "You bust me out of MACUSA prison with a lot of fanfare, put a giant target on my back, and now we're all fugitives from the law. How is that in any way helpful?" Even though she had slept rather well thanks to magical help, she felt knackered; her body was still recuperating from the injuries she'd suffered. She pulled up a chair and sat by the ratty kitchen table. It looked like it had been nailed together from driftwood.

Not that it mattered. She told herself to stop being such a snob. It was obnoxious and ungrateful. Old habits were hard to kick, though, especially if one was descendant from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. That was some weight to lug around. Again, she told herself to quit whining, even if it was only inside her head. There was absolutely no reason to complain about who she was and the choices she'd made so far. Her life was her own and so were her decisions. No-one had forced her to be as she was or to choose as she had. She had done all of this by herself, and would not push the responsibility on anyone else, least of all her family.

"We were" – Nocturna handed her sister a mug of tea and settled down with one for herself – "well, advised to get you out of there."

Celestia gave her a pointed look. "By your ally."

A very small, but entirely passionate smile tugged at the corners of Nocturna's expressive lips. Was there a twinkle in her eyes? There certainly was a flush of colour to her usually pale, freckled cheeks. Nocturna had always taken more after the Prewett side in the looks department than Celestia. It suited her. "Yes. By our ally."

"Did he or she perchance tell you how to proceed? Because I'm rather convinced that we shall be caught in the very near future."

Nocturna wiped a wayward strand of her carroty hair from her forehead and made a face. "Did you take notes from Alastair about how to use dramatic speech in everyday situations?" When Celestia just raised her eyebrows at that, Nocturna raised one hand in a typical hear-me-out gesture. "Look, I understand that all of this must be very confusing to you, now, and that you are sceptical. I promise that you'll soon understand."

Why had Nocturna felt the need to bring up Alastair right now? Celestia felt a nasty pang in her stomach, cradled her tea mug, and looked past her sister at nothing in particular. "His time is running out, Nana – Alley's, I mean. His and his family's – my family. I have to get going. I have to save them."

"I really don't understand why you're so attached to those Fawleys. I get your attachment to _Alastair_ , but you don't know his parents and brothers and whatever all that well, do you? Not to mention that insipid minister, but I suppose he's not closely related enough to your bunch to matter, anyway."

Celestia made herself face Nocturna. "Divorces aren't a taboo in our social circle, but they _are_ rare. My marriage was political. There's nothing wrong with that, but after a while, I realised that I had a choice: I could either do the right thing or risk everything and do what I actually wanted. The Fawleys supported me throughout the whole process. They didn't judge. They didn't oppose. They just accepted." Her thoughts returned to her daughter. Her throat constricted, and she felt that hated, tell-tale tickle at the tip of her nose. For a moment, she closed her eyes. "How could I not be devoted to them? I jumped into the abyss, Nana, and now everything I still have is at risk. If I don't succeed, they will die. That would be the end of me." She sniffled, bit her tongue, shook her head. "I don't think I could take losing them – losing _him_. It feels like he's trapped at the other side of the universe, and I can only watch him slip away further and further, until he's too far gone to be rescued."

"You gambled, and now you feel that you might lose it all," Nocturna said, and the warmth of her tone gave Celestia the guts to look up again. "But never think that the Fawleys are all you have left. Your family loves you, and even if they are too proud to admit that your happiness might outweigh the importance of their machinations, you still have me. I will never turn my back on you. I will never leave you." She smiled. It crinkled the skin around her eyes. "You're my little sister. I love you."

"I love you, too," Celestia said, mopping at her eyes with her right thumb, glad she wasn't wearing any makeup. "We still need to find a solution to our predicament, though."

"We do, and we will. You need to have faith."

"That would be considerably easier if I knew more about what's going on and what isn't."

Nocturna's smile turned impish. "All in good time, little sister."

"Well, it _is_ safer this way; I'll not argue that. In fact-" Celestia interrupted herself as an idea came to mind. She stared at Nocturna, eyes wide. "What if I turn myself in?"

"What? We just got you out!"

"The MACUSA people don't know I'm on your side. If you scramble my memories a little and then let me go, I can let myself get caught by them, have them question me, and then use their resources to get closer to my…I mean, our goal. The way Mister Graves, the chief security guy, was talking, I could tell that he and his friends know more than we do. _We can use them_ , _Nana_." She rested her elbows on the greasy table-top and leaned slightly forward. "It's the best way to get them off your back, too."

"I don't know about this," Nocturna said, her brows knitted together. "It sounds very risky."

"You already have a man or woman in there. Let me go back and find out what I can. Two insiders are better than one. Besides, I really do believe it's our best bet – maybe the only one."

For a moment, neither said anything, but then, Nocturna nodded slowly. "All right. Let's do it your way. But the moment things get risky, I'll have our insider get you to safety. I'm not losing anyone else, least of all you."

Celestia tried to give her a reassuring smile, but was fairly sure that the attempt failed. She'd never been too good at faking her feelings apart from smiling blandly at social functions; Nocturna would not be fooled, anyway. "You won't. It'll be fine. We'll all be fine. If you want me to have faith in you, then you must show some in me."

"I'll try," Nocturna said, smirking. "Fingers crossed, then."

* * *

 **2** **She apparated close to the MACUSA headquarters tottering, dishevelled, disoriented, and nauseous.** Not being of the too foolish variety, she'd chosen a side-alley, so as to prevent a grand entrance in front of many Muggle eyes. Luckily, there wasn't a single one in sight at the moment. Not a minute later – they must have set up an alarm in a perimeter around their HQ – a young woman apparated right in front of Celestia. She had straight, chin-length brown hair and a serious but pretty face, and she was wearing a no-nonsense grey suit and a long trench-coat.

"Celestia Prewett, you're under arrest. Don't resist," the young woman said, grabbed Celestia by the arm, and started towing her along toward the building in question. Once they turned a corner unto whatever public square this was, there were tons of Muggles bustling about, but nobody even looked at them twice.

Why they couldn't just apparate to the HQ's front door and save themselves the legwork was a mystery to Celestia. Well, all right, she knew that Muggle eyes needed protection from everything magical, and that they must not see a witch appearing out of thin air right in front of them, but it was still silly. This whole song and dance felt less like it was protecting the wizarding community and more like it was shielding the Muggles.

"Please, you have to listen to me," Celestia said through clenched teeth, because everything hurt: walking, talking, breathing, thinking. Getting crucioed by her own sister had not been particularly fun. Also, she couldn't quite remember what Nocturna and whoever else had been present had told her, either. The spell was working, then – splendid. "They're insane. They want to kill everyone."

"Tell your lies to Mister Graves, but he won't believe you, either," the woman replied, all business and no sympathy. She got Celestia inside the building and took her down to the same little grey office that had been blown into pieces a little over twenty-four hours ago. "You Grindelwald supporters are all the same. You don't care about anyone but yourselves."

That was a bit rich, coming from one of these pompous, self-important people, but Celestia knew better than to antagonise strangers she needed as allies. Besides, she was way too busy not tripping over her sluggish feet as she let the woman drag her along. Little later, she was sitting in the same chair again as yesterday, waiting for the man in question to arrive, whilst the auror lady stood behind her. They were certainly on high alert, now, clearly more so than they'd been before the attack.

When Percival Graves marched into the room, serious as a heart-attack, he nodded curtly at the auror, said, "Goldstein," and sat down opposite Celestia. He looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Why did you have your friends come get you, causing unbelievable damage, and then just waltz right back up to our front door? That makes no sense."

Her head was pounding sickly, her innards were roiling, and she felt like lying down and sleeping for an eternity. "I had no idea my sister was in town. I can't tell you how she knew where I was, but the attack seemed too well-planned to have been spontaneous. My presence here was a coincidence, and besides: I came back because I refuse to work for those fanatics." The auror lady – Goldstein – had cuffed her hands behind her back, so instead of motioning to herself, Celestia just looked down and then offered Graves a wry smile. "I told my sister the same thing I told you: I'm not political. I refuse to get involved. Her friends didn't like that. She had to act quickly to convince them she's still on their side."

His dark eyebrows shot up. "Your own sister did this to you?"

Celestia broke off eye contact. "She said something about the greater good."

"Grindelwald's motto," Goldstein piped up from behind Celestia. When Graves just looked at her in silence, she awkwardly added, "Sir."

He focussed his attention on Celestia again. "So I'm supposed to believe that you were coincidentally rescued by a bunch of Grindelwald supporters, tortured by your own sister upon refusing to cooperate with them, and that you then voluntarily surrendered yourself?"

"I was gone. You had no idea where I went. I could be anywhere by now, looking for the frozen heart. If I'm on their side, why did I come back?"

"It begs the question, doesn't it?" He looked at Goldstein again. "Go get your sister. We need the best in order to find out the truth."

"But sir, you'll be alone in here with her, and that's against regulation-"

"Don't quote regulations at me, Goldstein, and just do as you're told. Go on."

"Sir."

Celestia heard Goldstein's steps clanking away and saw her leave and shut the door from the corner of her eye. "You can use legilimency on me, as well; that's what the lady's sister is supposed to do, right? Look into my head, make sure I'm telling the truth? It's not necessary to get an interrogator. I _am_ telling the truth: I didn't know Nocturna was here. I had no idea she planned to attack this place. I've never even met Gellert Grindelwald. All I want is to find the frozen heart and save the Fawleys."

"We'll see," he said, eyeing her serenely. "Your mother's family are famous for believing in wizard superiority, aren't they?"

"I'm not responsible for what my family believes."

He uttered a wry little chuckle. "Indeed, you're not. So, what do _you_ believe?"

"Mister Graves, are you giving me the opportunity to tell the truth before you have someone read my mind? That's honourable."

"I'm just curious," he said, his voice calm and even somewhat friendly.

She told herself to stop projecting, already. Still, it was hard to shake the impression that he didn't have a personal problem with her despite recent events. "I ask you to please keep in mind that my feelings are not to be judged, only my actions." He briefly inclined his head in acknowledgement, and she nodded slowly. "All right. Well, the truth is that I often doubt the wisdom and necessity of the Statute of Secrecy."

"Why? Because it's inconvenient?"

There was no sense in lying, especially if they were going to use legilimency on her. Besides, admitting to an inconvenient truth would probably go a long way toward convincing these people that her desire to help them was genuine. "Yes, that, too, but to me, it's a matter of principle above anything else: why should we hide? The Muggles would not do us the same courtesy. In fact, they haven't – not ever. How many of us had to pay the price for their hatred and intolerance and jealousy? How many of our children were consumed by obscurials for no reason other than the self-loathing that was beaten into them by those who did not even try to understand? Why should any of us bow to them? We're better."

"In what way?"

It was her turn to arch her eyebrows. "Every way. Compared to them, we're all but divine, and we have to putter around in the shadows, hide our true natures, shield them from the terrible shock that are their own shortcomings? Keep from them fact that they are not the most powerful species on Earth? And for _what_? Who are we really protecting by keeping our heads down? Ourselves? Hardly. We're protecting them. I don't have much love for their kind, and I believe many of us feel angry at how we're forced to mollycoddle them."

If it hadn't been for the wretched Statute of Secrecy, the whole debacle that might very well end up being the death of the man she loved would never have happened in the first place.

Not taking his eyes off hers and not betraying anything but calmness, he said, "Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you sound like every Grindelwald supporter I've ever met."

"Have you met many, sir?"

The question made the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. "I've met my share."

"So what now? Do I end up in a dungeon? Do I get executed? I know you people still have the death penalty."

A moment passed during which he didn't react at all. At length, he slowly got up from his chair, circumvented the table, pointed his wand at her wrists, and disintegrated the cuffs. "I believe," he said, as she looked up at him in confusion, "that all you did was what you thought was best for those you love. I can't exactly fault you for family loyalty."

"And your family are the wizards and witches of North America. I remember." She rubbed at her sore wrists, still warily watching him.

"Make that all wizards and witches," he said, smiled a little, and returned to his seat. "I have no desire to see you harmed, Celestia. I know that you've never done anything to endanger our world."

"You do seem to possess an unusual amount of biographical information about me."

"Occupational hazard. The point is, you're not a traitor to the wizarding world. Your biggest fault may be your complacency up until now."

She frowned slightly at him. "Complacency?"

"Yes. Most of your life, you've stayed out of politics, never getting involved in anything, never taking sides. Now, you have the perfect opportunity to change that, to make a difference. You can help your brothers and sisters the way you've never even imagined."

How was she supposed to have any idea what to make of his words, of his demeanour, of his strange civility? This was probably just a ruse, just a manipulation tactic, but that wasn't the vibe she was getting. He really seemed sympathetic. This was strange. Then again, it might be perfectly ordinary. Many people worked for governments and upheld laws they didn't necessarily agree with. Besides, Celestia did have inside information, and killing with kindness was always a better tactic than using brunt force.

"What do you want me to do?"

The subtle smile returned. It was, she had to admit, a very attractive sight. "I want you to be my agent."


	7. The Abyss Looks Also Into You

**Chapter Six: The Abyss Looks Also Into You**

 **1** **Malfoy Manor was big. It was humongous, as a matter of fact.** Newt, as Leta's fidgety companion, had not ever been in a house such as this where people just lived without having opened the residence up for tourist business. England – Muggle as well as magical – was basically littered with castle ruins and manor houses that had been turned into museums and were visited by droves of people from all over the planet – not so the Malfoys' ancestral home. No, it was centuries old and would probably remain hidden from the public eye for many more to come. As far as Newt knew, not many people lived there, either: it was the matriarch and patriarch, his sister, her nephew, and the two boys, Apollo and Ares.

Getting to the place had been quite the production, as well, as the guests were picked up from the closest train station by black automobiles. It didn't even matter whether the Malfoy family owned them, whether they'd just rented them, or whether some other arrangement might have been made, because nothing made the gesture any less flashy and gaudy. Newt reminded himself that it was wrong to judge, but as the car he and Leta and Leta's parents were in drove through the wrought iron gates, up the wound path, and toward the manor, he couldn't help but think that all this luxury was a waste of resources – wasted on a handful of people.

He looked out the automobile's square-shaped window to his left and spotted a big, shiny, white bird flapping its wings. "They have peacocks."

"Indeed, they do," Leta's mother, the American witch Inez Lestrange, said, sounding less baffled than Newt but not exactly as if she approved, either.

Chancing a glance at her, he saw that the expression on her beautiful face was sour. Unable to help himself, he exchanged a knowing look with Leta. Both of them had the same idea at the same time, turning to each other in unison. Both snickered: she merrily, he almost soundlessly.

"I'm glad to see you in such high spirits, sweetheart," Gareth Lestrange said, giving his daughter a little smile. "I really do hope you manage to go out and make some friends tonight. They aren't bad kids, your schoolmates. You just have to give them a chance."

"Sure," Leta said, rolling her eyes, and gave Newt another pointed look, this time less joyful. She'd been fidgety the whole train ride over, and was now visibly uncomfortable in her own skin.

Newt wished he could tell her that nothing bad was going to happen with both her parents there and himself, but he'd be lying. He had no idea what those Slytherin boys (and out here, weren't they almost all Slytherins? What a notion!) had planned, but judging by Celestia Prewett's recent attempts to avoid both Newt and Leta, it couldn't be anything good. This _could_ be a nice evening. It was the first time he and Leta were doing something together outside of school, and she was looking so beautiful. Well, she was always beautiful, but in the dark-blue frock that she was wearing, and with her dark hair pinned up, she looked as if she'd walked right out of a fairy tale.

Mrs Lestrange didn't look like she shared her husband's optimism at all. "We'll make do, Gareth, but don't expect us to actually enjoy the company of these pompous snobs, or their tendency to throw their money in everyone's faces like it makes them better than us."

"You just don't know them like I do, dear," he said, unfazed. "I have faith that one day, both you and Leta will come around to our way of viewing the world."

"Don't hold your breath," Mrs Lestrange replied, but took her husband's hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

So far, Newt had never once seen either be impatient with the other. He'd expect Mr Lestrange to keep his emotions bottled up in front of a strange boy, but Mrs Lestrange wore her heart on her sleeve. Finally, their automobile halted, and a uniformed man opened the back door to let them out. Minding his manners and the fact that Leta's attire was rather unwieldy, Newt helped her outside, and she thanked him with a sweet smile and a nod. He offered her his arm, and together they followed her parents through the front door into the huge entrance hall that Newt's parents' house could probably fit into twice. It was high-ceilinged, had dark walls, a stone floor mostly covered by a dark-red carpet, and was rather dimly illuminated.

It was impossible not to be awed at such beauty, as swanky as it might be.

There were a lot of people arriving at the same time, filing into the house at an ambling pace, all heading toward the generous patrons, Janus and Pandora Malfoy. When the Lestranges and their plus one got to them, they smiled, shook hands, said some generic pleasantries. Leta, who'd already been here a few times, led Newt into the humongous drawing room. To him, it was more a ballroom than anything else: rectangular, twice as big as Hogwarts's Great Hall, it was festively decorated and sparkled in extravagant splendour.

It was probably better not to think about how much all of this costed.

"I do believe you children can have a glass of champagne or two," Mr Lestrange said, winked at his daughter, and ignored the pointed look his wife gave him. "Go mingle. We'll do the same." He offered Mrs Lestrange his arm, and they took off together.

The room was filling up quickly. There were many faces Newt recognised from either school or the press, but also many others he'd never seen before. It didn't matter. They probably wouldn't want much to do with him, and he would in all likelihood not interact with any of them again in the foreseeable future.

That was when two all-too familiar faces spotted him and Leta and began to approach.

Leta saw this, turned her back to the newcomers, and rolled her eyes. "Perfect."

"Lestrange! Scamander! Welcome!" Alastair Fawley's voice greeted cheerily. Both Leta and Newt turned to see him smile broadly at them. He was holding hands with Celestia Prewett. "You two clean up nice, as the vernacular goes."

"What do you want?" Leta said, not even trying to mask her apprehension. That always translated as hostility in her case. She didn't like to show people any kind of emotional vulnerability.

Alastair shrugged. "Nothing at all," he said, chipper. "I really hope that by the end of the evening, we'll all be on equal footing." Celestia pressed her lips together and looked away, to which Alastair elbowed her in the side. "Anyway, my lovely companion and myself will be around, should you feel the sudden need for emotional support. Far be it from a son of the proud Fawley family to turn his back on a wayward distant cousin who's found her way back into the loving arms of the community!" Theatrically, he waved his free arm in an arc in front of Leta and Newt's faces, as if painting the picture of a brighter future.

"How nice," Leta said, making a face.

He grinned. "Isn't it just? Anyway, see you two lovebirds around. Celestia, darling? Let's dazzle the masses." Without waiting for a reply, he started pulling Celestia, who gave Newt and Leta an apologetic look, away, toward a cluster of their Slytherin friends.

For a moment, the two Hufflepuffs watched them leave in baffled silence.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Newt said, sensing that his friend was seething to the point of explosion.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, and then offered him a pained little smile. "Maybe. But whatever happens, at least you're here with me."

"Yes," he said, feeling warm in the face and a little light-headed. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

 **2** **It almost looked as if nothing was going to happen.** At least two hours went by, during which music played, people talked and laughed and ate and drank, glasses clinked, heels clicked on the stone floor – the usual. Receptions such as this were all the same, in the end, even if some were big and some were small, but no matter what the locale, a cocktail party remained a cocktail party.

Leta and Newt kept pretty much to themselves. She was wary of everyone but her parents, who weren't paying her much attention at the moment. He simply didn't know anyone apart from the Slytherin kids. That ended in both Hufflepuffs standing around smack in the middle of the room by themselves, talking in hushed tones as Leta kept glancing about herself, suspicious. At some point, they were approached by Morgan Prewett, the head of Hufflepuff. It was a tad odd to see him in dress robes, but they suited him.

"Miss Lestrange, Mister Scamander," he greeted jovially. His pale, angular face was a bit flushed, and he carried a half-full champagne flute in one hand. Well, at least _he_ was having a good time. "Lovely to see you two here. Lovely." Leaning in a little, he added, "To be honest, it's good not to be basically the only Hufflepuff at one of these events," in a rather conspiratorial tone. "There'll be the odd one, sure, but most of the time, it's only me, the barely tolerated black sheep."

"I'd invite you to a party over these arrogant snots _every_ day of the week," Leta said disdainfully. Her eyes grew wider. She clearly remembered whose father Professor Prewett was. "Sir, I didn't mean to offend."

Professor Prewett waved off. "It's all right. It took me a while to get used to all of Estella's relatives and friends, too. She has a good many cousins who've never warmed up to me, but they'd never say anything to my face. In these circles, it certainly pays off to be a Pureblood." He sighed rather theatrically and took a healthy gulp out of his glass, nearly emptying it. "Anyway. I'd half expected you to abscond to the gardens to get a peek at whatever animal life is crawling about out there, Mister Scamander."

The remark made Newt smile a little. "Maybe if I were here by myself, but I wouldn't leave my companion."

"How gallant of you," Professor Prewett said, and comradely patted Newt's slim shoulder. "You're good students: both you of. I'm sure you'll be-"

The piercing 'cling' sound of someone tapping a metal object against glass cut through the cavernous hall, and soon, all conversation died down. People turned, sought the origin of the interrupting noise, and found seventeen-year-old Ares Malfoy, Janus and Pandora's eldest, gently hitting a silver spoon against a champagne flute.

When the silence was all but absolute, Ares – and he and Apollo really looked like twins, didn't they? – smiled thinly at everyone. He was tall, wore his almost white hair short and neatly parted on the side, always dressed in black, and didn't strike Newt as the kind of person who'd ever got dirt under his fingernails. "Ladies and gentlemen, this Yule it falls on me to welcome you all into our humble abode. My family and I thank you for accepting our invitation and thus proving your friendship to us."

There was polite clapping all around, as Newt and Leta just exchanged a knowing look.

Glibly, Ares continued, "Every Yule, as most of you already know, it is traditional for one of our illustrious guests to make a speech commemorating the year that has passed and offering an outlook for the one that will soon follow. Like always, one of you has volunteered for this honour."

Again, people clapped.

Newt chanced a look to his left, where, not far away, Celestia, Alastair, and Apollo were standing. She was frowning a little, watching Ares and glancing at the other two apprehensively, arms crossed below her chest. Apollo was smiling a little, and Alastair looked positively giddy.

Oh, no.

That was when it happened. Ares's pale blue eyes found Leta's brown ones, and he briefly inclined his head toward her. "I'd like to call Miss Leta Lestrange to the metaphorical stage."

Everyone's eyes found her. Colour drained from her face. She grabbed Newt's sleeve. Her eyes were huge. Her parents were close, watching with avid interest. The seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. Someone cleared their throat. Someone else coughed. There were a few whispers. Farther back, a few giggles erupted.

Leta was completely at a loss. "I…"

"Well?" Ares said, thin eyebrows arched. "We're all waiting for your eloquent words, Miss Lestrange. You'll not disappoint your genuflecting audience, will you?"

More whispers carried across the room.

Someone said lowly, "I knew that girl was a bit dim."

That did it. Her eyes filled with tears. She sucked in a sharp breath, turned around on her heels, and fled, even as some of their fellow Hogwarts students broke out laughing. Without even thinking about it, Newt followed after her, out of the manor and into the cold night.

* * *

 **3** **"Leta! Hold up! Wait!" He called out after her, but she wouldn't,** instead stomping angrily down the path toward the wrought iron gates, as if she were planning to walk all the way home in nothing but a short-sleeved frock and high-heeled shoes. "Please _stop_."

Thankfully, she slowed down, until she was just standing there, shaking in the cold and out of fury.

Quickly, he pulled his own robes off and draped them over her shoulders, which she allowed wordlessly. "You'll catch your death out here," he said, circumventing her and placing himself right in front of her.

" _I don't care!_ " She was sniffling, blinking, her face a flushed and contorted mask of hatred. Then, she looked up at him, saw that he was awkwardly trying to look supportive, and relaxed somewhat. "I'm so sorry, Newt. None of this is your fault."

It really was freezing, wasn't it? The cold blew through the thin fabric of his white shirt like a _Hibernus Horridus's_ breath – well, not that bad, but it was bad enough. He crossed his arms, pinning his hands under his armpits. "You can yell at me if it makes you feel better. I know it's not personal."

All the muscles in her face tightened. "No, but what happened in there was." Her eyes were brimming with tears again, and she mopped at them angrily. "Why would they humiliate me like that in front of _everyone_? It's not fair. What have I ever done to them?"

"It wasn't that bad," he said, adding, " _really_ ," when she just gave him a thoroughly doubtful look. "Really. It was a little mean-spirited to put you in the spotlight like that, but it could've been a lot worse. It'll blow over before we go back inside."

"I'm _not_ going back in there!"

"Yes, you are," he said, forcing himself to uncross his arms – good _God_ , the cold! – and place his icy, numb hands on her thin upper arms. "Even if you didn't have to get your coat, and even if you didn't rely on your parents to get you home, you will not admit defeat to those childish fools."

She frowned a little, but then gave him a half-incredulous, half-amused look, and nodded. "How could I refuse, after such a motivational speech?"

"I do what I can."

"Don't you just?" She sniffled again, rolled her eyes, and chuckled. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" It was nice to hear her refer to the two of them as a pair. "Anyway, you're quite right, too – quite right. I'll go back, pretend that I can join in those idiots' laughter, and plot my revenge in silence." There was a hard line to her mouth that he'd never seen before. Frankly, it was a little disconcerting. "Believe me: they won't even know what hit them, but it'll hit them hard."

He felt heavy, listening to those words – heavy and tired. "Leta, don't let this escalate. Count your losses and show them that you're above their level."

"No."

"Whatever you do, it'll only make everything worse. You can't possibly be aware of what consequences an act of revenge might-"

Before he knew what was happening, she'd grabbed him by the collar and crushed her lips against his.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh.

He slid his arms inside the robes he'd dressed her in and hugged her around the waist, as she put her arms around his neck. When she opened her mouth, he did, too.

The cold wasn't gone, but somehow, it didn't seem to matter as much anymore.


	8. But I Have Promises To Keep

**But I Have Promises To Keep**

 **1925**

 **1** **Goldstein came back into the little grey room with a young woman in tow – the sister, presumably.** This sister was a slender person of average height with a very beautiful, likeable face, and fashionably coiffed, strawberry blonde hair. Judging by the navy blue dress she was wearing and her somewhat abashed demeanour, she probably was not an auror.

Graves briefly stood up and nodded at her. "Miss Goldstein – Queenie. I'm loath to ask you this favour, but it really is vital that we find out whether Miss Prewett is being completely candid with us."

Queenie, who had her hands clasped before herself and seemed just a tad out of her comfort zone, nodded gravely and ventured a shy little smile after exchanging a quick look with her frowning sister. "Of course I'll help."

Celestia decided to ignore Goldstein's frown – most likely a consequence of the handcuffs being gone – and tried to relax and clear her mind. Legilimency was not exactly pleasant if one was at the receiving end. She kept her expression as level as she was able to when she looked up at Queenie Goldstein's face. The young woman stood before her and looked her in the eye, seeming unhappy about the turn of events, but doing her duty nonetheless. Those were always the best ones, weren't they? The reluctant people who pulled through despite their obvious trepidations? This kind of attitude required bravery, and bravery was hard to come by anywhere.

Unbidden, all the memories and feelings Celestia did not want anyone to see shot through her head. First, she thought of her first day at Hogwarts, when she'd for a brief moment feared she might get sorted into a different House than her mum and her friends had. That was when she'd silently begged the Sorting Hat to please please _please_ place her in Slytherin. The Hat nearly hadn't. She'd almost made Hufflepuff. How would she have been able to continue being friends with Alastair and the others as a _Hufflepuff_? Just as bad had been this question: how hurt would her father be if he found out that she'd refused to join his House?

No-one knew about this – well, until now.

Then, she thought about Leta Lestrange and the mean stunt the lads had pulled on her during that Yule Ball at Malfoy Manor. She thought about how cowardly she had been, doing nothing more than warning Newt and mildly admonishing Alastair. What had followed in the wake of that incident had been both awful and entirely preventable. Celestia knew that she too was to blame for it, as was anyone even slightly involved. Yet, she'd kept quiet out of fear, like a right coward. Not a day went by when she didn't have to force herself to not think about that ill-fated winter and the consequences of the boys' action and her inaction.

She thought about her sister, how close they'd been as children, and how hard it had been to see her leave for Romania. Not much later, Nana had found a new home in the Grindelwald movement, and hell would freeze over before she abandoned her cause. Nana was an ideologist, through and through, and would not stop at anything to defend what she believed was right.

Celestia thought about Newt, who'd travelled with her to help her save her family, when he'd had no reason to. She'd double-crossed him because he was a goodie-two-shoes who was enamoured of all strange and horrendous magical creatures crawling about the planet. He simply didn't understand that she'd burn the whole world down to save the people she loved, especially after all that she'd left behind when she'd walked away from her marriage. Still, as much as she might talk herself into believing that she'd done what she had to when she'd lied to Newt and bolted, she couldn't quiet the horrible sting of guilt nagging at her thoughts all the time, even in her dreams.

She thought about Alastair, about how they'd met as children during one summer at Malfoy Manor. From the first moment, they'd connected and had been nigh-on inseparable. How she loved his silly sense of humour. How she loved his passionate nature. How she loved his shrewd cleverness. How she loved his devotion to her and to their relationship. How she loved to just sit with him in comfortable silence, enjoying his company.

How she loved _him_.

Now, he was frozen and dying, slowly dying, almost gone, and with him, the entire reason for her resolving to make the hardest decision of her life.

She thought about her daughter.

In front of her, Queenie Goldstein took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," she said, and the honest sympathy in her voice was so disarming, it was almost enough to break Celestia's tenuous control on herself.

"Thank you." Celestia looked down at her hands, folded neatly on her lap. She felt a little ill and very, very tired.

"And?" Graves said, giving Queenie an expectant look.

Queenie, looking even unhappier than just a moment ago, shook her head at him. "I'm sorry, but I can't hear anything about Grindelwald. All she does is think about her loved ones and how much she misses them."

A small, but very heavy silence ensued.

Finally, Graves faced Celestia, and said, "It seems like you were telling the truth, after all. We were mistaken. You can leave."

To Celestia's right, Goldstein the Elder bristled. "But sir-"

"Don't argue with me," Graves cut in, and she pressed her lips together at once. He gave Queenie an acknowledging nod. "Miss Goldstein, would you escort Miss Prewett outside?"

Elder Goldstein's eyes grew wide. "But she has information about those Grindelwald supporters!"

Graves pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Goldstein, for once, would you just do as you're told without protest? That would be lovely."

Of course the older Goldstein couldn't know that Graves already had talked Celestia into helping him, but she really did seem a little too overeager, didn't she? Well, better overeager than the opposite. An auror's job wasn't exactly a walk in the park, especially not in their day and age.

Celestia cautiously rose to her feet and straightened her poor, battered dress. She really needed a shower and a change. "Am I really free to leave?"

"You are." Graves turned to Queenie again. "If you'd be so kind…"

"Of course." Queenie gave Celestia an encouraging smile and led her outside the little grey room toward the nearest lift. They were already well on their way through the big entrance hall toward the doors when she said, "I really am sorry I pried like that. It's never my intention to make people uncomfortable."

"It's not your fault," Celestia said, glancing at her. "I've never met a Legilimens quite as powerful as you, Miss Goldstein."

"Call me Queenie."

"I'm Celestia."

They started heading down the stairs that led to the glass doors. A few people looked at the rather dishevelled foreign witch walking past them, but clearly didn't find the sight all that riveting and quickly went about their own business again.

Sounding a little wretched and very sympathetic, Queenie said, "I'm sorry about what happened to you. Nobody should go through something awful like that."

"We all have our crosses to bear, as the saying goes," Celestia replied levelly, sounding much calmer than she felt. She pushed the door open and smiled at Queenie. "Thank you for being nice. That's a rarity these days."

Queenie smiled back. Her whole face lit up. She wasn't just objectively beautiful, but emanated warmth and honesty and gentleness in a way that made her mere looks completely irrelevant. This seemed to simply be a nice person who harboured no ill will toward anyone. It was probably very easy to fall in love with her. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"So do I," Celestia said, braced herself against the cold, and went outside.

* * *

 **2** **It didn't take long until Celestia was reunited with Nocturna and the others in the crummy brownstone.** They all occupied their previous positions, as if there were some unspoken yet weirdly official seating arrangement compelling them to do so. It was pretty standard behaviour, actually. Some things never changed.

Everyone listened to Celestia as she recounted her brief meeting with Percival Graves and the Goldstein sisters. "She didn't see anything suspicious in my mind, and now he thinks that I'm spying on you for him," she concluded, looking each and every one of them in the eye.

To her left sat Nocturna, who took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Did he say anything else?"

Celestia shifted her weight in order to look at her sister properly. "No. He told me to keep an eye on you, involve you in my search, and keep him informed. He'll probably send the Goldstein woman after us as insurance, but I'm not sure."

"Porpentina Goldstein," Ethel, lounging in her armchair, said with unmasked contempt. She snorted. "Thinks she's on a crusade to rid the world of all evil witches and wizards threatening the holy order of the noble MACUSA!" Her pleasant, youthful, thin and sharp-angled face twisted in disgust. There was no need to ask if she had an axe to grind with the authorities in general and Goldstein in particular.

"Don't worry about Goldstein," Apollo said, briefly glancing at Ethel before focussing on Celestia. "What we need to do is continue the search for the frozen heart. Your contact didn't show up because the aurors were onto you. Was there a contingency plan?"

Despite herself, Celestia tensed up. It was so strange to be in the same room as Apollo again, after the ugliness of their separation, as if nothing bad had ever happened. She tried to relax, to little avail. "Certainly. He said that he'd leave me a clue, which would then lead me to the next and the next, until finally, I'd reach him."

"Like a scavenger hunt," Leta offered, from Celestia's right.

"Precisely," Celestia said, nodding once. "It won't be easy, though, and it might get dangerous, especially if we have aurors on our backs."

Everyone exchanged knowing little looks. That was odd, wasn't it? Why did everyone seem so utterly unfazed by the fact that the Director of Magical Security and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement thought that Celestia was his agent? Why did they care so little about aurors being on their backs? This made no sense. It made absolutely…

…unless…

Celestia's heart started beating faster. A cold chill crept down her spine. Could it be? Could _he_ be the insider working for Grindelwald at the heart of the American wizarding authority? Telling herself once again to stop projecting her fears and insecurities on everyone around her, she decided to keep this suspicion on the back burner. It certainly was a thought worth exploring, but it did not seem prudent to just blurt it out as it came into her head. No, she needed to sort out her own priorities and keep her ultimate goal in mind. Nothing else mattered. Politics didn't matter. The wizarding war didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was saving Alastair and his family – her family. There was no failing this mission. When she'd left her life behind to be with Alastair, they'd promised each other that they would be together until the day they died.

She would burn the whole world down to save him.

* * *

 **3** **"So you do understand what I want you to do, don't you, Goldstein?"** Graves was watching her from across the table. They'd been inside the interrogation chamber for what felt like an eternity now, as he explained to her how he'd recruited that dodgy Prewett woman to be an agent for the MACUSA on the hunt for Gellert Grindelwald.

"I'm to stay put and not get involved without a direct order. I understand perfectly, sir," she said, her voice sounding mechanical and weird in her own ears. That was what she always sounded like when she forced herself to say something, and she was forcing herself to say something because she did not agree with Graves one single bit. How could he ask this of her? She couldn't just let that woman re-join her delinquent sister and the other Grindelwald cronies! Something in his weary expression told her that she wasn't as good at keeping her thoughts to herself as she'd hoped.

Looking as if he were suppressing a sigh, he said, "Spit it out already."

She braced herself for resistance. "Sir, I don't think that it's smart to let Prewett prance about unsupervised. She's not trustworthy."

He arched his expressive eyebrows. "Your sister read her thoughts and came to a completely different conclusion."

It was her turn to suppress a sigh. After rummaging in her mind for the right words, she finally said, "That's…that's not exactly how it works. Legilimency isn't fool proof, which is why evidence gleaned via a Legilimens wouldn't hold up in a court of-"

"Goldstein."

She chewed on her lower lip. "Sorry. My point is, thoughts can be manipulated. Prewett may have not blocked the reading because she knew how to play the game."

His brow furrowed. "I know it's strange to hear this from me, of all people, but maybe you shouldn't be this paranoid. Celestia Prewett is not our enemy. She's an ally. I trust that she won't disappoint my expectations."

Exasperated, willing him to just _understand_ , she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table top. "Sir, what if that was all an act and she was planning-"

"Goldstein."

"But what about her older sister? Nocturna Prewett is a _notoriously_ fanatic Grindelwald supporter, and she and her sister were always close. There's also the issue of Celestia Prewett's family situation! Of _course_ we should assume that-"

" _Goldstein!_ "

She leaned back, closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, and drew a deep breath. "Sorry, sir."

The look he gave her was not unkind. "I realise that this must seem unorthodox to you and that you must have many questions, but you _have to trust me_." He waited, but she was too busy biting her tongue and organising all the thoughts rattling around in her brain. That was when he gave her a little smile. "To paraphrase our public enemy number one, it's all for the greater good."


	9. Best Served Cold

**Best Served Cold**

 **1914**

 **1** **Over the Christmas break, Newt kept thinking about what happened at Malfoy Manor – the good as well as the bad.** The thing was, it was easy to forget about the nasty stunt Alastair and Apollo and their unpleasant little friends had pulled on Leta, given the direct result of her emotional outburst. She'd kissed him! She'd really kissed him. Truth be told, he'd wanted that to happen for a while now, even though he hadn't openly admitted it to himself up until that evening. This was a state of affairs that had come about slowly, gradually, until it became difficult to think about anything else. They weren't very similar, personality-wise. He was quiet, on the shy side, careful, tranquil. She was…oh, she was something else: outspoken, intense, passionate, fiery. They'd at first gravitated toward each other because of their similar interests and because of their outcast status, but as their friendship progressed, he always felt like they complemented each other. No, they didn't always harmonise, but they did get along because they were both alike and very different.

In the end, he could spend hours listing the reasons why Leta was so important to him, or why they were as compatible as they were, and it wouldn't even matter. Either one cared about a person or not. Feelings required no reasons. They weren't logical. They just were.

Now, she had kissed him, and he had kissed her back. They hadn't really talked about what that meant for their friendship ever since then, especially since both had gone to their respective homes over Christmas and New Year's. It meant something, though – of course it did. They'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. He knew that he should take a step back and think about it, about the potential repercussions of turning a platonic friendship into something else, but it was almost impossible to clear his head. All he wanted was to see her again, to be close to her, to not think about any negative consequences their relationship might have, to not think about the way her face had twisted in hatred when she'd sworn to get back at Alastair and company.

The way he felt right now – light-headed and light-hearted – it was easy to convince himself that she'd spoken out of anger and that once that had cooled down, she'd see that taking the high road was both more dignified and smarter. Leta was intelligent. She'd understand that nothing good could ever come of revenge, that one vicious act spawned a thousand more, and that in the end, everyone would only be miserable. Leta was an irascible and passionate girl, but she was also smart and kind-hearted. She'd make the right decision. He knew that. Everything would be fine.

When the time came to go back to school, he was so giddy that it was difficult to keep it to himself. Just as they always did – it was an unofficial tradition of theirs – he and Leta met at the same spot on Platform 9 ¾.

She was already there, waiting, her long beige coat pulled closely around her body. It was cold and draughty, and he knew that she hated the cold. When she saw him approach, she straightened her posture and cracked a broad smile. Her whole face lit up. Immediately, the air seemed less cold to him, the sky less grey. Was this corny? Absolutely. It was also the truth. That was just life. Sometimes, clichés were actually real.

For a moment, they just stood there, awkwardly smiling at each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The platform was as busy as ever: people hurried to and fro, trolleys stacked high with huge and heavy trunks were being pushed about. There was shouting, clashing, clanking, ringing, crashing. The air smelled of concrete and rain and sweat and leather and smoke. Still, Leta and Newt might as well be the only people there – another trite cliché that happened to sometimes be true.

"So," he finally said, pressed his knuckles to his lips, and discreetly cleared his throat. "Ready to go back?"

"Am I ever," she said, an edge to her voice. "Remember what I said to you that last time we spoke?"

He looked up, saw the cold expression on her pretty face, and frowned. "Leta…"

"It's okay." She reached out and took his hands into hers, whilst his heart picked up the pace. "Don't worry. I've got a plan."

"That's precisely what worries me," he said, sounding sadder than he'd intended.

Before she could reply, a piercing whistling sound startled them, and a voice announced overhead, " _Hogwarts Express will soon be leaving from Platform 9 ¾. All aboard_."

Leta beamed at him. "Come on," she said cheerily, and started pulling him along toward the train. "It's show-time!"

* * *

 **2** **Along with most other Slytherins, Celestia sat in the train's back carriage, at a table,** sharing her space with three other people. She was sitting by the window, looking outside at the hilly landscape that rolled by, gloomy, not really registering anything. With her were Alastair, Apollo, and Ares, who was now facing the last leg of his Hogwarts career.

"…and there is absolutely no reason why we shouldn't be allowed to say these things out loud," Alastair was saying to her right, sounding genuinely upset. "What do you think, lovely and dearest Miss Prewett?"

She blinked, shifted her weight, raised her carefully plucked eyebrows at him. "Excuse me?"

Anger melted off his face. He gave her an amused look. "You haven't been listening at all, have you, dear?"

"I saw Leta and Newt getting onto the train earlier," she said, turning to the window again. From the corner of her eye, she could see the three boys exchanging meaningful looks. It made her feel a little bit like knocking their heads together.

"Good for them. They're together now, and I just _love_ bringing people together," Alastair said. "But back to the topic at hand. I-"

" _Alastair_." She turned around and glared at him, then the other two, then at him again. "Do you even remember the events at the Yule Ball? You know, what you did? She won't forget. She'll be out for blood, and I don't even blame her. By God, Alley! You should know better. You should all know better."

An awkward little silence followed.

"Tia…"

"No. You went too far."

"Celestia, don't be hysterical. It's beneath you, and it embarrasses the rest of us," Ares said, rolling his eyes at her. "Leta Lestrange is an arrogant, pompous _little girl_ who thinks she can thumb her nose at us in that smug, superior manner of hers. It's unworthy of a Pureblood. It's unworthy of a Lestrange."

"All we did was take her down a notch," Alastair offered, lightly elbowing Celestia in the side. "Now she hopefully got the message and will stop being so snobby."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You are seriously accusing someone else of being a snob?"

"It wasn't nearly as bad as you're making it out to be," Apollo said. From his tone of voice, she could tell that he was trying to be placating. It wasn't exactly a talent of his, but at least he tried. "You girls and your drama."

She gave him a withering look and snorted. "Kindly go to hell."

"This isn't helping," Alastair said, took her hand, and leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek. "Lighten up, sweetheart. Nothing bad is going to happen. She'll get over it, and so should you. After all, she's got a boyfriend, now."

"Because that's the solution to any problem a woman might have," she replied flatly, "getting a man."

"Worked well enough for you," Ares said.

It was all she could do not to spit in his face. "Don't be nasty on purpose just because I don't approve of your juvenile nonsense. You're better than that."

"We all are," Apollo said, giving his brother a look of admonishment. "That's the whole point."

Nobody said another word for a good long while.

* * *

 **3** **The Ordinary Wizarding Level exams, a.k.a. O.W.L.s, were just around the corner for the fifth year students,** and the tension among all of them was palpable. The sensible ones had started preparing themselves at least a year ago and had little to fear. Most students, however, were not that smart. There was always something more interesting going on, and studying for an exam that was a year away was horribly dull. Besides, there was always enough time, wasn't there? Enough to organise notes, read the right books, memorise spells and potion ingredients and historic dates etc. etc. etc.

Except when there suddenly wasn't, and everyone save a few started to panic and pull all-nighters.

Newt's least favourite subject had always been History of Magic, but that was no surprise: it was everybody's least favourite subject. Professor Binns, the unfortunate teacher, was the kind of person whose entire range of teaching techniques amounted to reading from a book in a droning tone that put the most enthusiastic and eager student to sleep within less than ten minutes. He seemed to love his job, however, and didn't seem to have any kind of life outside of it. The common joke amongst students was that he'd probably keep on teaching even after his death. Everyone else was bored to tears by his classes, but he obviously enjoyed the subject. Well, at least one person did, and that was always a win.

A group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were seated at the same table in the reading room adjacent to the library, faces all but buried in books and parchments. For the twentieth time in half as many minutes, Newt looked up from his unspeakably dull History of Magic text. His eyes rested on Leta, who was focussed on her own book, a slight frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. She was chewing on her lower lip; her eyes were narrowed. No, she obviously wasn't pleased with what she was reading, but other than Newt, she never had trouble concentrating, even if it was on subjects that she found less than captivating. That was something admirable about her: as spirited and changeable as she might be, she still had an incredible capacity for completely focussing on one single thing at a time. Her mother called this a one-track mind.

Newt called it dedication.

Since he didn't want to come across as weird, staring at her like that, he quickly looked away, leaned back, rubbed at his eyes, and yawned.

That caused her to look up. The annoyed expression on her face made way for what was clearly amusement. "Still stuck on chapter five?"

He chuckled. "I've been re-reading the same page for the last ten minutes."

For a few seconds, she just returned his look calmly, but then, she cracked a smile. There was a slightly mischievous element to it. "Come on." She pushed her chair back, stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and held out a hand. "Let's go get some fresh air."

"But…we need to-"

"Only a fresh mind can study successfully. Do you want to stay stuck on the same page for the next three hours? Hardly. So come on."

Thankful that she had suggest it, since he was usually the one craving the outdoors, he scrambled to his feet, briefly noticed that nobody else cared, and walked out of the library with Leta, hand in hand. They were hardly outside and everything automatically seemed better, the world brighter, all of life less dire. The lethargy that had been weighing him down was blown away the moment he drew in a lungful of icy-cold, crystal-clear winter air. The fog cleared from his mind.

Trudging down the path down the hill, he squinted in the clear, frosty sunlight and smiled. "You were right. I'm already able to think clearly again."

"See? I told you." She had been pulling him along but stopped suddenly, spun around, and planted herself right in his path. The bright light was painting soft highlights on her pinned-up, brown hair, and her eyes were shining. "Newt." It was always nice to hear her say his name – sweet, somehow. She took his other hand, too. "I've got an idea, and I really need you to listen to me, _really listen_ , until I'm done explaining. Can you do that for me?"

Despite the fresh air and vastness of the outdoors still lifting his spirits, he felt as if a weight had been placed on his shoulders. He gave her an unhappy look. "If this is still about the thing with Alastair Fawley and the Malfoy brothers, I really wish you would just let it go."

Her expression hardened. "No."

"Leta, this is silly. Why do you have to be this vindictive? It was a mean-spirited thing to do, sure, but it wasn't as bad as you believe. Nobody but you cares anymore. They at least seem to have forgotten it ever happened. I'm even under the impression that they're treating you better. It really-"

She silenced him by standing on the tip of her toes and pressing her lips against his. This was a little like it had been during the Yule Ball, wasn't it? Maybe even a lot. But they were here, it was a beautiful day, and he would not let his incessant thinking ruin the moment.

After a while, she backed off. Her usually light-brown skin was flushed darker. It was a pretty sight – beautiful, in fact. "Newt, you don't know those people like I do. They might be pretending to be nicer to me, but that's all it is: pretence. They hate me and they'll never stop tormenting me if I just roll over. I need to do something that'll make them back off for good."

He shook his head and gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I told you once and I'll tell you now: revenge only sparks more hatred. This will end badly. Just let it go. Please."

"I _can't_." For a few seconds, she glared at him, but then, her expression softened and her shoulders slumped. "It's not like I'm planning to murder anyone. I just want to teach them a little lesson. It'll even be less awful than what they did to me." She looked up into his eyes, her own wide and hopeful. "Would you just listen? You can't say no to what you haven't even heard yet."

It took him a while to get his thoughts and feelings under control, but finally, he made a decision. This was Leta, after all. He owed it to her to take her side no matter what. "All right. I'll listen to you, but I won't do anything to harm anyone."

A cautious smile curved up the corners of her mouth. Then, out of the blue, she put her arms around his skinny waist and leaned her head against his prominent collar bone. "Thank you."

He hugged her back – carefully at first, then more tightly. Yes, the doubts were still there, as were the trepidations, but he just couldn't deny that he also felt wonderful. Here he was, in the cold sunshine, breathing in the fresh air, Leta in his arms. She was warm and alive and he could feel her heart beating. Closing his eyes, he leaned his cheek against her soft hair and just told himself to stop overthinking everything.

* * *

 **4** **"…and that's why I completely agree with the thought that there should be import taxes on American products** , no matter what all those left-wing goodie-two-shoes say **.** Everything else just doesn't make much sense. Do you want that sub-par rubbish flooding the market? That, of course, goes hand in hand with the idea that magical artefacts should only be sold to people with a license and not to any Muggle-born who doesn't know the first thing about tradition. I don't think-" Alastair stopped talking and poked Celestia in the ribs.

She flinched and slapped his hand. "Stop that!"

They were in the Slytherin common room, sitting on one of the dark sofas. Not many people were around. Most fifth years were studying for the O.W.L.s; most of the rest of them were outside, enjoying the first sunny day in weeks. Neither Celestia nor Alastair had ever been particularly outdoorsy, though.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What is _with_ you not listening to me lately? You're the one who asked me about my opinion on the whole sorry subject. You're the one who's squeamish about" – He leaned in to whisper in her ear – "about magical superiority."

"I know," she said, took his hand into both of hers, and kissed him on his prominent cheekbone. "And I'm sorry. I did ask you. There are just so many things cluttering my mind right now. That is no excuse. Don't be angry."

Making a face, he said, "Please, dearest Miss Prewett, delightful flame that keeps my heart's light afire, _please_ tell me you're not still hung up about Leta bloody Lestrange."

Her brow creased a little. Then, the sickle dropped. She shook her head. "No, no, no. This is something different."

His expression turned sympathetic. "I see you're not in the mood for my dazzling poetry. Why don't you tell me what's worrying your wonderful brain, then, instead?"

Unable and unwilling to stop herself from smiling at his sweet attempt to make her feel better, she leaned against him and closed her eyes when he put his arms around her. "It's family politics. The Black side wants the Prewett side to have more influence, which is why a relative of mine is supposed to become ambassador to Prussia."

After whistling lowly, he said, "Ambitions, ambitions. But that's never been anything to hold back a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Intimidating."

"They need the help of the Malfoys for that," she said lowly, holding him tightly around the waist, breathing in the warm, honeyed, sage and thyme scent of his skin. Her knotted shoulders relaxed. Her stomach stopped roiling. "I just get the feeling that whatever they ask in return, it won't be pretty."

"You think it's going to affect you somehow?"

"I don't know. My mother won't say, even though she keeps dropping hints that some things might soon change for us – change for the better, she assures me." She pressed her lips together and drew another deep, soothing breath. "But I've got the strangest feeling, Alley – the strangest feeling. Something is about to happen, and it will not be good."

"Well, whatever it is," he said in a quiet tone, hugging her even more closely, "we'll weather it together: you and me, just like we're meant to." After a small pause, he added, "I'll never let anything bad happen to you, Tia – not ever. If any catastrophe should come your way, I'll be there to catch the brunt of it. I promise you that."

Despite everything, she had to smile. "I promise you the same," she said. "I love you."

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you, too."


	10. The Greater Good

**A/N:** **I apologise for the long hiatus. I've been through some personal stuff, which caused a pretty bad case of writer's block. Hopef** **ully, that's all over and done with. Thank you folks for reading and leaving comments. I appreciate the time and attention** **invested.**

* * *

 **The Greater Good**

 **1925**

 **1** **Even though Celestia was itching to just be on her way to the next clue,** her sister convinced her to be patient and catch a decent night's rest. They still had some planning to do, anyway, and Celestia had still not fully recovered from the strains her body had been put through the last few days. Her contact had left her instructions to collect what he had called clues from two different sites in something called Black Rock Forest. The coordinates weren't all too specific, so the group decided to split up into pairs after apparating to the location Celestia had been given, and going from there. Yes, it was all a little vague, but that was for everyone's protection. If the clues were too easily found, then what would stop the local Aurors from getting to the prize itself with relative ease? No, that must be prevented at all costs.

Frankly, Celestia didn't like giving Ares Malfoy or that strangely nonchalant Ethel girl the opportunity to find the frozen heart before she did. After all, they were committed to the Grindelwald cause and would do anything to gain an advantage over their powerful enemies at the MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic, among other wizarding governments. It wasn't as if Celestia couldn't get behind their motivation. After all, there was a war going on, and in war, every means leading to a final victory were permitted. Even though she felt squeamish about some of Grindelwald's goals, she had to admit that she wasn't entirely opposed to his views about the superiority of magical people. Neither was she opposed to his fight against the Statute of Secrecy.

Ares had been more right about her than Nocturna: Celestia really was a lot more committed to saving Alastair and his family than to the Grindelwald cause. Well, to be fair, Celestia had put all the cards on the table and outright admitted the truth, but she knew her sister. Nocturna was enthusiastic and prone to letting herself get carried away by her emotions. She'd always been the more passionate of the two sisters, and she'd been so bubbly about Celestia joining that it was hard to believe she wouldn't try to get the latter to pick up the mantle of righteousness permanently. It was probably a little cowardly, but Celestia decided, as they all sat in the decrepit brownstone's living room discussing strategy, that she wasn't going to keep harping on the fact that saving the Fawleys was her one and only goal right now. Of course she loved her sister and was glad to be close to her again. Of course she had opinions. Of course the current global crisis plaguing the wizarding world didn't leave her cold.

Of course she felt guilty about lying to Newt after he'd stopped supporting her goals.

Still, she'd set out on this quest with a single goal in mind, and she knew that she must either succeed or perish. This wasn't just about Alastair or his closest relatives. This was about her validating her own choices. Percival Graves had said that she'd kept out of politics all her life, that it was time she got off the fence and took a side. This assessment of his was partially correct; she had to admit to this. Politics made her squeamish, and she liked to tiptoe around things that made her feel uncomfortable. He wasn't completely in the right, though. She already had taken a side. Was it selfish? Oh, yes. Would this self-awareness stop her? Would she, if push came to shove, choose the greater good over the lives of the Fawley family? No. No, her mind was made up, and nothing that Nocturna said to her would change this. Celestia would not fail. She couldn't.

Truth be told, she didn't think she'd be able to bear losing Alastair, after everything that she had sacrificed to be with him.

With everything going on and all the disconcerting suspicions whirring about in her head, Celestia didn't think she'd be able to ever fall asleep. She drifted off about ten minutes after lying down and didn't wake until the next morning.

* * *

 **2** **Tina Goldstein was sitting at the kitchen table in the 679 West 24th Street brownstone apartment she shared with her sister,** watching the latter cook dinner. She had her hands folded atop the table so tightly, her knuckles were shimmering white through her skin. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed together. Her head was aching dully. She had a sour taste in her mouth. Her thoughts were spinning and spinning, always around the same sorry subject: her boss's order that she should leave Celestia Prewett and all the other Grindelwald goons alone. How could he even ask this of her? It made no sense. Sure, he'd told her that this was all part of the plan, that Celestia Prewett was working for the MACUSA, that Tina shouldn't worry.

"And you shouldn't." Queenie carried two bowls of vegetable soup to the table, set one down in front of Tina, and settled down opposite her.

Tina picked up her spoon and listlessly stirred the steaming contents of the bowl. Nothing about the current situation had a particularly stimulating effect on her appetite. "I try; I really do try." She rubbed at her forehead and took a deep breath. "But I can't."

"Tina…"

"Please don't give me this worried look. You know me. I can't ignore this. There are too many questions that Mister Graves didn't answer."

Queenie being Queenie, she simply couldn't stop caring. One didn't need to be a Legilimens to see the concern on her face. She kept her eyes trained on her big sister. "I looked into Celestia Prewett's mind. All she wants is to save the man she loves."

"And there was nothing hidden in there? No intentions muddled by all those sentimental memories she was feeding you?"

Frowning a little, Queenie said, "We've talked about you interrogating me."

Tina chewed on her lower lip. "Sorry. But this isn't right. None of it. I mean" – She dropped the spoon into the bowl, sending some soup drops flying, and threw up her hands in frustration – "look at how _odd_ this all is! Celestia Prewett shows up in New York in search of the one thing that can save her family's life. We get an anonymous tip and take her into custody for questioning. The same day, she gets busted out violently by her sister Nocturna, who is one of Grindelwald's most trusted lieutenants. How did she know Celestia was with us? How the heck did she and her friends get through our defences? How did they get out again? Why aren't we allowed to do everything in our power to track them down?"

Leaning her chin into her hand, Queenie idly replied, "They think of it as budget issues."

Paying no heed to that, Tina went on, "And then, Graves recruits Prewett as his mole? After two conversations with her and one two-minute reading from you, he suddenly trusts her? Has he even _read_ the file on that family? We should be tracking her every step. We should be doing something!"

"You're just upset that you're not the one doing it. That doesn't mean something isn't being done." The tone Queenie said this in was so wary, she seemed to be expecting her sister to blow up at her.

Feeling a little like slapping herself, Tina said, "You're probably right. I should just trust Mister Graves. He knows what he's doing."

"You should just learn to let go and understand that the world will turn even when you're not directly involved."

"I know." She picked up the spoon again. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Not fooled in the slightest by her sister's nonchalant façade (and Tina had to ask herself why she even bothered), Queenie said, "Please tell me that was just a random thought."

Tina suppressed a sigh. "I can't just not do _something_. I'm an Auror. Defending the law is my job."

"It won't be for much longer if you keep ignoring orders."

"This is something I need to do. I wish you'd understand that."

Queenie gave her an unhappy look. "I understand better than you realise."

They ate their supper in awkward silence.

* * *

 **3** **The next morning, the group didn't waste much time.** They rose early, got ready, and apparated to a spot that Ethel knew, near the Old Forest Headquarters, on Continental Avenue. Apparating blindly was on nobody's radar, especially not inside a forest. Merging with a tree was, about now, the last thing Celestia needed.

The air was chilly and humid, but not unpleasant. It was nice to be outside of the huge, noisy metropolis, and breathing in the fresh, leafy, earthy forest air. Celestia pulled her coat closer to her body. "You all know what you're looking for."

Ares, obviously too tired to glare or be nasty, pressed his black-leather-gloved fist to his mouth, unsuccessfully tried to suppress a yawn, and nodded. His eyes were bloodshot. He obviously hadn't got much sleep. "Yes, yes. Enchanted galleons. You know how to decode the numbers on them. We follow the trail, gather back here in three hours."

"Precisely. Good luck." After nodding at everyone in a fashion she hoped was encouraging, she turned around and trudged into the forest.

Nocturna followed her.

For a few moments, they just walked, as much as one could call it walking. The ground was slippery due to being mostly composed of wet earth and decaying plant matter; the trees – red oak, red maple, bear oak – stood closely together. Roots needed to be stepped over, holes in the ground dodged. Sluggish salamanders scurried away at the approaching alien giants.

Celestia pulled her wand from her coat pocket and whispered, " _Invenio_." Naturally, the enchanted galleons were warded against something as mundane as the summoning spell. Anything else would be the work of an amateur, and working with amateurs could prove fatal on such a quest. A blueish light started glowing like a little sphere around the tip of the wand. The closer they got to the spot either of the galleons was hidden, the stronger and whiter the light would become.

"I never thought you, of all people, would be part of something this dramatic," Nocturna said from behind her, sounding rather amused.

"I know." Celestia glanced at her sister over her shoulder. "Quite ridiculous, isn't it?"

"How long have you been chasing this damn thing?"

Of course Nocturna couldn't know this, but the question alone sent a jolt of adrenaline through Celestia's guts. "About a year."

"And how long does Alastair have?"

Gingerly, Celestia stepped over a root that stuck out from the ground like it wanted to trip unwanted intruders. "A year."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." The light started fading, and she stopped. After turning this way and that, she finally found the right direction again. Even though she'd slept like a baby (and no thinking about her baby – there was no time for sentimental nonsense), she felt drained, as if she'd been on the run for days on end without respite. Well, this wasn't too far from the truth, was it? She had been running. Maybe she was running out of strength. She was definitely running out of time.

"I know what you're thinking, Tia." About half an hour had passed when Nocturna spoke up again. Far above, dark-grey clouds had started gathering. It smelled and looked like rain.

"What am I thinking, then?" That came out in a tone that was much more snippy than intended. Celestia kept her eyes trained on her wand. The light sphere at the tip was glowing a bit stronger. Acid sloshed in her stomach. Her brain kept insisting that she'd get close to what she needed so badly, almost close enough to touch it, but that it would be snatched from her grasp at the last second. Growing increasingly irritated with herself, she stomped these nagging and quite useless doubts down as well as possible. It was a waste of time, and worse than that: doubts led to fear, and fear was always paralysing.

"You're thinking that we're using you to get to the frozen heart, but that we'll double-cross you either because we've convinced ourselves that we need it more, or because we believe that you have no intention of honouring our deal," Nocturna said, her tone light and chipper. She skipped over a muddy puddle to her sister's left.

Celestia glanced at her sideways. "Am I wrong?"

"Yes and no. We all understand that saving Alastair and his family is what matters most to you, and that you'd double-cross anyone in order to achieve that. But other than some of us, I believe that deep down, you're on our side. Therefore, it'll all work out just fine. You'll get to save your paramour, and we'll get to end this miserable conflict with one decisive strike."

Far away, thunder grumbled faintly. Above their heads, a breeze was ruffling the dying leaves in the crowns of the tall trees. Some birds flapped their wings. Small animals scurried away. It was getting colder.

"I hope you can convince Ares and the others of this."

Nocturna snickered. "Ares isn't the problem, and don't you believe for one moment that _I_ don't see that you're avoiding the subject of Apollo."

The light sphere turned a darker shade of blue. Celestia stopped walking abruptly. She felt both like just lying down in the mud and breaking something, screaming, but of course, she kept her cool. After some more changing directions, the light turned a bit whiter. They were getting somewhere, now. There was no need to lose patience, let alone hope. "I've said all I had to say both to and about him."

"Not to me."

From the corner of her eye, Celestia caught Nocturna watching her intently. Somehow, this made the former want to just turn around on her heels and run far, far away. It made her want to yell at her sister, too, which was both irrational and unfair. But Celestia had to admit that by this point, her nerves were frayed to the point of snapping. She reminded herself that self-pity was probably the most unattractive quality in a person, especially a witch of her standing. She also reminded herself that Nocturna was correct: they hadn't spoken about Celestia's divorce. Then again, they hadn't spoken at all for the past two years.

"You haven't been around," she said, not quite willing to ban the edge of annoyance and resentment from her voice.

Nocturna blew out a heavy breath and scratched her neck with her free hand. She, too, was searching for the enchanted galleons, following the lead of the light sphere emanating from her wand. "I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

"Alastair was – he and his parents, his sisters, his brother. They were all there."

"You're angry. I understand. I have nothing to say in my defence." A moment later, Nocturna added, "Don't get me wrong: I'm not apologising for doing my duty to the wizarding world. I made a choice, and it's the right one. But I truly regret that you had to go through so much misery to get what you wanted, only to have it taken away again."

Celestia's stomach cramped. "I haven't lost yet."

"No, of course not, and you won't. But still: it must've been awful."

"I try not to think about it. It's unbecoming and unhelpful."

They slowed down as the light spheres lit up even more.

"This is something I don't understand about your decisions, Tia."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Nocturna said, clearly hesitant, as if trying to find words that wouldn't upset her little sister too much, "you've always been a person who put the needs of the many above the needs of the few…or the one. Yours. You married Apollo for political reasons. The family needed it, and so, you sacrificed your own happiness. That was just so…so _you_. I don't understand how you could change so much, to the point of risking all the delicate arrangements made – not to mention the fact that you left your daughter-"

"You're right. You _don't understand_ ," Celestia cut in sharply. For a couple of seconds, she closed her eyes and gathered herself. "Apologies."

"Don't," Nocturna said, briefly placing her right hand on her sister's back. "You're right to be angry, and you should allow yourself to feel it, too. Stomping down your feelings will always backfire at some point."

Celestia almost asked her if she'd learned this little nugget of wisdom from her great idol, Gellert Grindelwald, but stopped herself just in time. Lashing out at Nana was not the way to deal with her emotional issues. "I wanted to do what was best for the family. I tried; I did. It wasn't any one thing that made me change my mind. Apollo didn't mistreat me, or I him. The Malfoys were gracious. My" – She pressed her lips together and bit her tongue – "my daughter is the sweetest, most precious thing, and leaving her behind was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." The silly knot in her throat was back. Her vision grew blurry. She blinked the tears away as best as she could and sniffled. "But I _had_ to do it. I just…I couldn't keep living like that. It's selfish and horrible, yes, but I couldn't feel anything anymore. There was nothing left inside of me – nothing. I was going through the motions, yes, but I was completely numb. Dead. Gone. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing seemed like it _mattered_. I found myself wondering if _I_ mattered." Incredible. This was the greatest amount of words she ever uttered on the subject to anyone, even Alastair. It felt both mortifying and liberating, but that was nothing new.

A strange little silence ensued. The sound of rain pattering on the tree-tops started getting stronger. It would take a while until the water got through to the ground, though, so for now, there was no need for magical measures. This was just as well: performing too much magic so far away from the city would undoubtedly draw the attention of the MACUSA Aurors.

"You can't not follow your heart and expect that not to backfire," Nocturna finally said, her voice quiet, her tone thoughtful. "I came to the same conclusion after I met Grindelwald in Prussia, in case you were wondering."

Glad of the focus shift, Celestia said, "So your reasons for following him are personal."

"No." When Celestia cast her a doubtful look, Nocturna laughed. "Yes, I have…feelings for him. I think we all do. He knows this, too, and is gracious about it. But that's not the reason I follow him. I follow him despite my feelings, not because. I believe in the cause, Tia. I'd sacrifice anything to see our brothers and sisters freed from oppression. I'd do anything to end these ridiculous secrecy laws. We need to be free to take up our rightful place and end this madness that is allowing the Muggles to ravage this planet unchecked, while we stay in the shadows and bow to their inferiority. No more. So yes, while I love you and our parents and Grindelwald, I am doing what I'm doing for all of us, no matter what this entails. It's all for the greater good, and the greater good is what I'm living for."

Celestia let those words sink in for a moment. "Then you're a better person than I am." What she didn't mention was that this little assembly line speech of a fanatic only proved her own suspicions right. These people could not be trusted to keep up their end of the bargain if they thought their goals were at stake.

"You're fighting for your principles, aren't you? That's the same thing. All you need to internalise is that in the end, we all want what is right." After a few seconds, she added, "Alastair will sympathise, once he's unfrozen."

"Yes." But first, Celestia needed to get the frozen heart and set right what had gone so, so wrong. "He too believes in the greater good."


	11. The Blind Eye

**The Blind Eye**

 **1914**

 **1** **After a while, Leta stopped touching on the subject of her ill-fated revenge plans.** Instead, she and Newt spent most of their time together in perfect harmony, studying for their exams. That wasn't all of the time, though. Sometimes, they'd just walk around outside, enjoying the wild nature and each other's company. It was enough for him to forget all about the unpleasant interlude at Malfoy Manor. What he'd told Leta was true: everyone but her apparently forgot all about it as soon as school started again, and the Slytherins did act much friendlier – or at least less hostile – than before.

Now, it seemed that Leta's temper had cooled down, as well, which was wonderful.

They were outside again, on the first warm afternoon of the year, walking by the lake, relishing the sunlight on their faces.

At some point, she stopped walking and pulled him to a halt, too. She faced the lake, squinting due to the light reflecting off the water surface. "Can I ask you something personal?"

A little awkward, he shifted his weight from one foot to the next. Personal questions weren't exactly his forte – not because he minded answering them, but because he never knew when his candour was deemed too much by protocols of politeness. With a little effort, he said, "Yes." Well, he was never going to be handed any awards for being eloquent. Over the years, he'd made his peace with that.

She gave his hand a squeeze. "Have you been neglecting your exploring activities because of me?"

That, he had not expected. He blinked at her in mild surprise. "You mean in the forest?" When she only nodded, he laughed lowly and scratched his neck with his free hand. "It's not a sacrifice. I love…I love to spend time with you." Oh, wow. That had nearly got out of hand. He cleared his throat, feeling silly.

The smile she gave him was sweet and lovely. "I _know_ that that's something you love. Therefore, I want to share it with you."

Again, he looked at her in surprise and a small amount of confusion. "You want to go into the Forbidden Forest with me?"

"Is that so astonishing?"

He hurried to shake his head, lest she change her mind again. "No, no. It's just that I don't want you to get into trouble because of me. It _is_ called the Forbidden Forest for a reason, and I've had more than my share of detentions."

Gently, she took his other hand and tugged on it, so that he'd turn to face her properly. "I don't care about that. What I do care about is that you always bend over backwards to accommodate me. I want to share in something that _you_ like to do for once."

That was…oh, he didn't even know what to call it. Sweet? Beautiful? Perfect? He couldn't stop smiling. His face was warm. "Are you sure? As much as I'm glad to hear it, I wouldn't want you to do something just because _I_ think it's fun."

Slowly, she shook her head. "Don't you worry about a thing. I really want to join you next time you go into the forest." Then, she raised her face and kissed him.

This just _had_ to be the best year of his life.

* * *

 **2** **As members of Slytherin House, Celestia and her friends of course had high ambitions for themselves,** but the ambitions their families had for them were even higher. Therefore, they all spent basically their entire time studying. Failing the O.W.L.s was not even on anyone's radar. No, what they wanted was to excel. It was no less than their names, their House, their parents demanded. Celestia preferred to study in the library, with Alastair as her only companion, but sometimes, the whole affair turned into a group effort down in the Slytherin common room.

One rainy afternoon, after four hours of studying, Celestia, Alastair, their friend Aceso Carrow, and Apollo Malfoy put their books aside because they were physically incapable of assimilating any more information.

Aceso ran her fingers through her shoulder-length, dark-blonde hair and blew out a heavy breath. She leaned back in her black leather armchair and closed her eyes. Her angular face was pale, except for reddish blotches high up on her cheeks. "If I have to read another text about whatever goblin war in never again, it'll still be too soon."

"Agreed," Apollo said, pressed his knuckles to his lips, and almost succeeded in suppressing a yawn. "Ares didn't have any trouble scoring all the points and even some that don't exist, but his assessment on the difficulty of the exams cannot be taken at face value. Ares has no life outside of being a brilliant snob."

Alastair, who was sharing one of the smaller sofas with Celestia, laughed throatily. "Ah, to be able to recognise the subtle differences from snob to brilliant snob. To be a Malfoy!" Dramatically, he shook his fist at the metaphorical heavens.

"Self-awareness is not your forte, is it, Fawley?" Apollo shot back, not even trying to hide his good humour. He yawned again, this time more heartily.

"Nope," was Alastair's cheery reply. He put an arm around Celestia. "Not that the lovely Miss Prewett cares. Oh no, she's been absent all afternoon. You may ask yourselves, 'what foolishness doth he speak of'? 'Tis the truth, though, I say! One look into her entrancing countenance will tell you so!"

That was when Celestia blinked and looked about, as if waking up from a deep sleep. "Are you talking about me?"

"See what I mean?" Alastair jabbed a thumb in her direction, before pulling her closer to himself. "What _has_ been going on with you?"

Smiling faintly, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've been mulling over a letter I got today from my mother: she writes that my uncle Baldur was sentenced to three years in Azkaban."

All eyes were on her.

Even Aceso was sitting straight again. " _What?_ Why?"

Celestia rubbed at her forehead with one hand. Her fingers were cold. "He broke the Statute of Secrecy by hexing a bunch of Muggle boys for teasing his son."

She was not clear on the details, but knew that the Wizengamot had determined that Baldur's reaction had been exaggerated and completely uncalled for. Apparently, his son had only been called names after he'd tripped one of the Muggle boys into a puddle of mud with 'accidental magic'. The family, however, cared nothing for any of this. The Muggle boys, in their opinion, had no business, let alone the right to get even near a wizard – a Pureblood, no less. Celestia herself didn't want to get involved, but she was fond of her mother's little brother, and he'd always treated her nicely.

Well, all right, perhaps she did have an opinion and simply didn't want to think about it too much for fear of creating a rift between herself and her relatives.

"Ridiculous," Apollo said, sneering. "Those damn lowlifes should be glad they're still breathing. They attack one of us, they have to expect dire retribution. It's as simple as that."

Was it, though? If life had taught her anything, it was that things were never quite as simple as one wished. She couldn't quite bring herself to oppose him, though, or any of them. After all, they had immediately been outraged on her behalf, immediately been on her side. The Slytherins were a family, after all, and talking back to them when they only wanted what was best seemed ungrateful. Those were her mother's words. She herself couldn't help but feel like a bit of a coward for not even questioning her demeanour.

Aceso looked about herself, made sure that no-one was listening in on them, leaned forward, and said, in hushed tones, "This whole Statute of Secrecy thing is completely ridiculous, not to mention foolish. We're naturally superior to Muggles because we can use magic, and they can't. Why should we bow to them? I don't see the sense."

"Since we're playing 'whose idea was this, anyway'," Alastair said, equally quiet, mimicking his friend's posture, "I really have to wonder what the deal is with the unchecked Mudblood favouritism going on in this school."

Celestia stared at him, wide-eyed. " _Alastair!_ "

He shrugged. "What? You don't approve of how those people are handled, either."

"That may be so, but I do oppose to racial slurs."

"Apologies, then," he said, and placed a kiss on her cheek.

"Oh, don't be so squeamish, Celestia," Apollo said, after exchanging a knowing look with Aceso. "Honestly, we all know that Muggle-borns are at least twice as likely to produce squibs if they procreate with pure-blooded folk. They kill entire magical lines just by being there. That's a fact."

"Evidence for that is _very_ iffy."

"Besides," Alastair said quickly, before the feeling of camaraderie could make way for a full-fledged argument about blood status rights, "I know that I'm the one who derailed the conversation, but remember: the subject at hand is the Statute of Secrecy, and on that, we can all agree. Can't we?"

A tense little silence ensued.

Finally, Apollo nodded and offered Celestia a thin smile. "Of course we can. I just have to remind myself that our Celestia has different sensibilities than I do."

She nodded back, wondering if it wouldn't be more courageous, more _right_ to risk a fight over something she felt deeply uncomfortable with. It was easy to tell herself that she was doing right by her peers, by her family, by her people, but in the back of her mind, doubt lingered. Maybe she was a productive part of the whole and kept quiet for the greater good. Then again, maybe she was just being a coward. In any case, this was a thought that would eat at her for years to come.

Trampling all those uncomfortable ruminations down, she took Alastair's hand and leaned her head against his bony shoulder. As long as they were together, nothing else mattered much: not politics, not prejudices, not conflict or war.

* * *

 **3** **"I should've brought something to take notes," Leta told Newt,** as they trekked along the fringes of the Forbidden Forest – somewhere between being hidden from prying eyes and not too deep inside.

Newt was accustomed to being here, rules or no rules. The last thing he wanted, however, was to get Leta into trouble. "That's not necessary. Should you have questions later, you can always ask me. I'll be happy to explain." As he led her through a patch of tall oaks that grew closely together and allowed for little space to manoeuvre, he snickered. "As you know, of course. If you don't stop me, I'll talk about the subject forever."

"Well, it _is_ interesting, and there isn't any definitive guide on magical beasts."

He cast a look at her over his shoulder. "People don't care enough, I think – save a few exceptions, of course. There is literature available, but a guide would be helpful, yes."

"Maybe you can compile one someday." The tone she said this in was playful. What she couldn't know was that he'd already thought about something like this a good long while ago.

In fact, it was one of the reasons he'd been gathering so much information about all kinds of magical creatures. "Maybe."

It was hard to say why he was at all squeamish about sharing this plan – more like dream – with her, but somehow, he couldn't quite bring himself to. To be fair, he hadn't even talked to his mum about this, because there wasn't much to talk _about_. He'd one day had the idea whilst trying to find any literature on thestrals, and since then, it hadn't left him alone. It was probably a pipe dream, anyway, a project too huge and complex for one single person to complete. Nevertheless, he had to admit that he was quite passionate about it. He just wanted to be better prepared and actually have something to show for before he entrusted anyone with this. It wouldn't be the first time people made fun of him for what they called his weird obsession with magical beasts.

The thing was, magical creatures were often easier to get along with than people, and therefore, he trusted them more.

But Leta? He trusted her. His hesitation wasn't about that, at least not exactly. In the past, she had teased him sometimes about his most cherished hobby, but it had never been mean. Still, he wanted her to be proud of his achievements, and there couldn't be any pride if he hadn't achieved anything. Right now, all he could hope for was that Leta would enjoy spending some time in the Forbidden Forest with him. Just to make sure that she'd have the best experience possible, he had a very specific plan. It had taken some logistic trickery, but finally, he had the perfect gift for her.

The closer they got to the place he was leading her to, the faster his heart beat. Even his stomach was cramping a bit. It was amusing, to certain degree, that he never got nervous when dealing with any fantastic beasts, from bowtruckles to hippogriffs. Taking Leta with him into the forest, though…well, that was a different matter entirely.

"Are we there, yet?" she said, mirth in her musical voice.

"Almost. Just over there." He squeezed through a wall of ash trees, onto a clearing. Thankfully, both he and Leta were slight of build.

When she managed to follow, she tugged down on her uniform skirt, smoothed out her grey jumper, and plucked some leaves out of her pinned-up hair. Then, she took her time to look around, whilst he watched her. It only took a couple of seconds before her face lit up in a brilliant smile. "Oh, it's _beautiful!_ "

It, was, too. This was a large clearing so perfectly round, it looked artificial. It was circled by tall ash trees. Through its midst bubbled a lively stream. Sunlight shone down on it in thick, greenish beams. The air smelled green and fragrant and alive. There was something else, too, a feeling of static and elation that could only be described as magical. Yes, this was a place of pure magic, and there was a reason for this.

"What are we looking for?" she said.

He gave her a subtle smile. "Wait for it. You'll see."

Then, as if on cue, they came into the clearing, wading through the chattering brook: three snow-white unicorns, whose long and silvery manes caught the sun and reflected it, shimmering radiance all about them.

Leta's eyes grew wide. As if unaware of it, she grabbed Newt's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Wow."

"Do you like them? I wasn't sure I'd managed to convince them to come here today, but here they are."

She sucked in a sharp breath and slowly shook her head. " _Amazing_. I've never seen one before in real life – only in books."

"There's good reason for it. They're quite shy." After a little pause, he added, "Would you like to get closer?"

"Won't they run?"

Shaking his head, he said, "Not if you are very, very careful. Come on. Follow my lead."

With great care, they approached the three beasts, who'd stepped out of the creek and were now patiently waiting for the two humans. All the effort Newt had poured into finding them, getting them to trust him, befriending them had not been in vain. Just being close to a unicorn lifted anyone's spirit, and now, he was sharing this experience with one of the most precious people in his life. What could be better than that?

Leta stopped in front of the tallest one, a mare. She exhaled a short, high-pitched, incredulous little giggle. The mare whinnied softly. Exceedingly slowly, Leta raised her free hand. "May I?"

"If she doesn't shy away, yes."

"All right." Carefully, she placed her hand on the side of the mare's muzzle, barely touching the soft white hair. A thoroughly entranced smile spread across her features. She moved her hand, ran it to the unicorn's neck, back and up, over the mare's crest, poll, and to the forehead, to the long and twisted horn. "Amazing. _Amazing_." It was as if she could hardly believe any of this was even happening. "It's like being inside a dream."

"It does feel this way, yes."

She let her hand sink, turned to Newt, and hugged him closely around the neck, whilst he put his arms around her slender waist. "Thank you. This is beautiful."

"Thank you for sharing it with me," he said, leaned his cheek against her hair, closed his eyes, and just allowed himself to feel contented.

* * *

 **4** **About an hour later, they were trekking back toward non-prohibited grounds.** The whole time, Leta was somewhat stunned and quiet. They were almost out of the forest when she stopped walking.

He only noticed this after a moment and turned around. "Is everything all right?"

It took her a few seconds to snap out of it. Snickering, presumably at herself, she nodded. "Yes, everything is great. You know, this was _so_ not what I was expecting."

His brows furrowed somewhat. "What _were_ you expecting?"

"I don't know, but it involved digging in the mud and shaking insects out of my sleeves."

"Oh." He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. "Well, I do, that, too."

The corners of her mouth twitched a little. "That doesn't exactly surprise me." She opened her mouth to say something else, but then, she crinkled her nose and grimaced. "Ugh. What is this _ungodly_ stench?"

"I don't…" Then, the slight breeze that had suddenly come up and that was ruffling the foliage above carried it to him, too: the foul smell of decaying organic matter. "Ah. That's a bundimun."

"A what?"

"Let's find it. It's probably right behind you, on the thicker branches of that oak." Gingerly, he stepped past her, to the tree in question, squinted, searched, and then found the flat, many-eyed, greenish pests clinging onto the tree bark. There was a whole bunch of them. He motioned to Leta to approach.

With obvious hesitation, she did. "What _are_ those things?"

"They feed on dirt and dead matter. If you don't take care, they can demolish your entire home around you." He chewed on his lower lip. "I should take them deeper into the forest. If the groundskeeper finds them here, he'll kill them."

"But aren't they pests?"

Somehow, he wished she hadn't said that. Trying not to sound reproachful, he replied, "They're not dangerous and have as much of a right to live as you and I." It took a giant leap of faith, but he managed to add, "Would you help me carry them deeper inside the forest? It won't take too long." That, of course, he couldn't guarantee, but it was better not to mention it to her. "It'll go quicker if you help me."

She gave him a doubtful look. "First the unicorns, and now these things? You've got to be kidding me."

"This is what I do, Leta. It's not always pleasant, but I do think it's necessary." He looked down at his muddy shoes. "I couldn't possibly sleep, thinking these poor creatures might be killed just for the crime of existing."

For a moment, she mulled it over, but finally, to his great relief, she nodded grimly. "All right. Let's get this show on the road."

"Great! You take these four, I take the rest."

It was obvious that she was repulsed, but still, she took the small creatures into her bare hands and followed him. "So, uh…they eat dirt, you say?"

"M-hm. They like to burrow into nooks and crannies and are pretty hard to find. Their secretions can be used in cleaning solutions and some potions, but most wizards and witches find them too hard to cultivate, too unpleasant to have around. Still, they can be a helpful asset to any household if treated with the necessary care and respect."

"With that smell? Unlikely. And how do they even get to break down houses, stinking up the place like that? People would notice."

"The smell builds up over time but is difficult to locate if you don't know where to look."

"Ah. Interesting."

He hadn't expected this, but she really did sound interested, didn't she? That was good. It was great, in fact. After about half an hour of walking, they gently placed the creatures on an old, gnarled oak: their new home. Newt wiped his hands on his trousers and counted the creatures. Then, he counted again. Frowning, he said, "Leta, there's only seven of them, but I had four, and so did you. Did you drop one?"

"No," she was quick to reply. "I only had three the whole time. You must have miscounted."

"I didn't. There were eight of them. Are you _sure_ you didn't drop one?"

She glared at him. "Newt, if I tell you that I only had three, then I only had three. Knock it off!"

Taken aback, he raised his hands defensively. Then, he motioned to place them on her shoulders, hesitated, and dropped them again. "I'm sorry."

As soon as it had popped up, her anger evaporated. She smiled. "We shouldn't let a silly misunderstanding ruin our perfect afternoon, should we?"

"That's the last thing I want."

"Same." Sunlight was breaking through the crowns of the trees, making her eyes look like they were shining. She stood on the tip of her toes and put her arms around his neck. "This afternoon really is perfect in so many ways…many more than I expected."

That might be a cryptic thing to say, but he'd not question it. They were together, they were happy, and nothing else mattered right now.


	12. The Art of the Possible

**The Art of the Possible**

 **1925**

 **1** **"I still don't think you should be coming along. You are not an Auror,"** Tina was telling her sister as they both walked at a brisk pace through the corridor that lead to the Wand Permit Office.

"You won't be for much longer either if you go through with this," Queenie retorted, sounding as concerned as ever. Since she was wearing pumps, she was having some difficulty keeping up with Tina.

Tina had always been the more practical dresser of the two. "I have to do this. I won't argue with you any longer about any of it." Abruptly, she stopped walking, so that Queenie nearly crashed into her. "Look," Tina said, raising her hands in a typical and obvious imploring gesture. "I know that you're right to worry. I know that" - She hesitated and lowered her voice - "I'm disobeying orders. But this is, I think, more important than my job. There is something fishy going on. I need to get to the truth of it."

"Are you sure this isn't just your wounded pride talking?"

"I don't know. You tell me." Without waiting for a response, Tina spun around and marched off again.

She knew that she needed to find a way to track Celestia Prewett other than asking Graves, who'd only order her to back off again. She couldn't back off, though. Too much misery had already been caused by those darned Grindelwald supporters - too much death and destruction. If they got their hands on a mystical weapon of mass destruction, then there'd be no-one left to stop them. Needless to say, that would mean bad news for everyone, No-Majs in particular. Why was Graves so unconcerned? Why was he willing to trust Prewett at all? Okay, yes, he knew more than Tina did about the whole situation – granted. Still, there were too many questions his conduct raised in her mind, too many doubts. Besides, orders or no, if she could prove Celestia Prewett's duplicity and prevent her from getting her hands on that horrible frozen heart thing, then Graves wouldn't have any reason to admonish her. She was, after all, only doing her duty to the wizarding world. That outweighed protocol.

Since Celestia Prewett had been briefly arrested and her wand registered, authorised MACUSA personnel could track her wand. Prewett probably didn't know that, which was what Tina was counting on. Tracking spells could be countered by illegal magic, which was something Prewett and her ilk probably had zero qualms about. As she walked into the office in question, Tina dearly hoped that no-one would question her request, since she was an Auror and they had their own fish to fry.

From behind her, Queenie said, "That's a lot of hope you're pinning this on."

"Sh," Tina made, annoyed, as she approached the desk of the witch in charge of the early shift.

Being notoriously horrible at memorising names, she of course for the life of her couldn't recall the austere, middle-aged, good-looking woman. Mostly, Tina relied on Queenie for that kind of irrelevant trivia. Hoping her expression was casual, she planted herself in front of the desk and waited. The woman didn't look up. Trampling down her growing irritation, Tina cleared her throat. Still, nothing happened. The witch in charge was scribbling something on a parchment. At other desks, several people were also absorbed in their work.

Tina, however, had no time or patience for such nonsense. She said, "Excuse me, but I need access to the tracking-"

"Authorisation."

"What?" Tina furrowed her brows. There was a pang in her stomach. Darn it.

This time, the witch did look up, albeit for only a second. "Do you have an authorisation slip? New directive says I can't grant any Auror access to wand tracking unless they have a parchment signed by Mister Graves, himself, or someone who's his superior."

"I..." There was no Plan B. This was bad. Should she just give up?

"No authorisation, no access."

From behind Tina, Queenie said, "We're sorry, Misses Shaw. We weren't aware of the new regulation."

"You, I understand. An Auror, however, should know better."

Before Tina could protest, Queenie grabbed her by her arm and started dragging her outside again.

Out of the office, Tina leaned against the stone wall and covered her burning-hot face with her cold hands. This was a hiccup and no mistake.

"Don't feel down. It was a bad idea, anyway," Queenie said. She obviously wasn't even trying to hide her relief.

Tina let her hands drop to her sides. "Mister Graves just anticipated my, uh...my enthusiastic initiative. It won't stop me, though. I've got a job to do."

Queenie looked both dejected and resigned. "Obstinate is what you are. Tina, outside of going behind your boss's back, there's no-" She interrupted herself. Her eyes grew wide. "No. What you're thinking of right now is-"

"A loophole. If it doesn't work, I'll leave it alone; I promise." Both she and Queenie knew that this wasn't true, of course, but still: formalities and all that. Energised by a renewed sense of purpose, she pushed herself off the wall and started striding down the hall. After about ten steps, she stopped short and cast a look at her sister, over her shoulder. "You coming or what?"

After a moment's hesitation, Queenie reluctantly set into motion. "I might as well. Someone needs to keep an eye on you."

"Whatever works for you." Tina set off again. This was going to work; it _had_ to. Once she'd gathered all the evidence she needed, she'd be able to prove to Mr Graves that the Prewett woman was not to be trusted.

* * *

 **2** **The light sphere around Celestia's wand was steadily growing larger and whiter.** It was just as well, as the raindrops had started making their way through the trees' canopies. Celestia's pinned-up hair was already plastered to her skull. She was shivering in the cold. Her fingers, toes, ears, and nose were numb. Neither she nor Nocturna had said a single word for at least half an hour. There'd been no need, and frankly, Celestia had had no desire to speak. Unlike Nana or Alastair, she'd never been much for small talk, but during the past several months, she'd grown even more sullen than normal. Maybe it was a little silly, but spending basically every waking second engaged in a desperate quest was the best way to drain a person of every ounce of joy and levity. Celestia was well aware that she had a penchant for melancholy, that this was an integral part of who she was. Lately, though, it was becoming harder and harder to keep herself from lapsing into emotional numbness that was barely interrupted by bouts of annoyance, anger, and despondency.

To be honest, she'd been feeling more and more like she had shortly before she'd left Apollo.

This was pretty bad. She wasn't sure whether she'd be able to go on much longer without scoring a significant victory. Her thoughts turned to Newt - quite unbidden, as usual. Ever since she'd left him behind, she'd been experiencing lack of appetite and increased headaches. Well, Nocturna was right about one thing: suppressed emotions always bubbled to the surface at some point. A guilty conscience was even more stressful than she'd anticipated. Even repeating her mantra of how she hadn't had a choice wasn't really working anymore.

She wondered where he was now, and whether he'd been the one to alert the American authorities about her intentions. If it really had been him, she couldn't find it in herself to be mad at him. He'd been horribly worried, for - she had to admit - good reason. Besides, she hadn't been completely honest with him, either. All he had done was be a good friend, and she'd betrayed his trust in the worst possible way.

It was a pretty wretched situation, no doubt about it.

What would he think of Leta's involvement in the Grindelwald movement? Probably nothing good. Leta had come a long way since that fateful incident at Hogwarts; she and Newt didn't have much in common anymore. People changed. They took different paths. They drifted apart. It might be sad, but it was an inevitable fact of life.

"Tia." Nocturna's voice ripped Celestia out of her gloomy ruminations immediately.

"What is it?" Celestia stopped short and spun around.

Not five feet behind her, a little to the left, stood Nocturna, cracking a gleeful smile, holding her wand aloft. She was bathed in bright, white light.

Celestia's heartbeat quickened. Her mouth went dry. She gnashed her teeth together. It took her a second to get a grip on herself, but then she nodded once. "It has to be right where you're standing."

"Buried in the earth?"

"Maybe. Move your wand up and down."

Nocturna did. It made no difference. However, when she moved it closer to the dead tree stump to her left, the light got almost blinding. "Tia!"

"Yes." Quickly, Celestia hurried over to the tree stump and knelt down in the dark-brown muck without minding how it soiled her coat and skirt. That didn't matter. None of these trivialities mattered a single bit. All that did matter was-

Her fingers found it among a bunch of dead leaves: a cold, small, round thing of metal. This was it. It was one of the two coins that would get her closer, ever closer to the Fawleys' salvation. Time was running out.

* * *

 **3** **As was usual for her at this early hour, President Seraphina Picquery was in her office, doing paperwork.** Tina was hoping the President would be alone, even though counting on her expectations hadn't turned out so well today. To be honest, she didn't believe that the President would give her the blessing needed to track and follow Celestia Prewett, but this was Tina's last shot at doing so without actively defying her boss.

"You're already defying him," Queenie said, from behind her, as they approached Picquery's secretary's desk in the office's anteroom. "The President's blessing wouldn't change that at all."

Yes, yes, all true. But still, she'd try. Again, as she had with the Shaw woman at the Wand Permit Office, Tina approached the secretary – a young, relatively thin, dark-haired wizard of exceedingly pale skin – trying hard to look friendly.

This time, however, Queenie was quicker. She darted past her sister and stood before the desk, smiling sweetly. "Good morning, Emil."

Upon hearing her voice, Emil looked up, already wearing a forthcoming expression on his pleasant, soft-featured face. "Miss Goldstein! Good morning. What can I do for you?"

"Well, it's…" Queenie trailed off, waved off, shook her head. "Oh, it's quite silly. I shouldn't have bothered you. We'll better go."

It was no surprise to Tina whatsoever that the good man straightened up, nearly falling all over himself. "No, no, no," he hurried to say, spluttering like a youngster. "It's no bother. Not much to do at this hour: most people aren't willing to get up as early to work as you as your sister." He briefly glanced at Tina, hardly looking her in the eye, before focussing his attention on Queenie again.

Tina just reined herself in, doing her best to not just storm forward impatiently to demand an audience with the President. Her approach was as good as her sister's, but there was a time and a place, and what might work in one situation might not in another.

Again, Queenie smiled sweetly. She said, "We're early birds just like yourself…and the President. Is she in there?" Of course, she'd already know, but people tended to be a little scared by her exceedingly powerful Legilimency prowess.

Emil nodded. He leaned forward conspiratorially, and said, in a quiet voice, "She's been reading up on reports on Grindelwald's people's exploits for the past couple of hours and won't be in a particularly great mood. If you want any favours from her, I suggest you really do come back later."

"We would, but the thing is" – Queenie stepped up to the desk and placed her gloved hands flatly on the desktop – "my sister has information about a Grindelwald supporter, and that can't wait until Mister Graves shows up at the office."

A few seconds ticked by, during which Emil just mulled things over, whilst Tina wanted nothing more than to grab him and shake him until his teeth rattled. Time was of the essence, here! She barely refrained from tapping her foot on the stone floor. Patience had never been her forte.

Then, the slight frown creasing his forehead melted off his face. He nodded. "All right. I'll tell her. Wait here, please."

"Thank you, dear," Queenie said, her smile growing, lighting up her whole face. When he disappeared into her office, she spun around to Tina, beaming broadly. "See? You don't always have to go through the wall."

Tina couldn't help but return the expression, albeit in a more subtle fashion. "I'm just glad I have you to keep reminding me of that."

Half a minute later, Emil emerged from the office and into the anteroom again. "You can go in."

Not needing to be invited twice, Tina strode forward with determination, her sister by her side. Behind them, Emil closed the door.

Seraphina Picquery was sitting at her desk, focussed on a parchment spread out right in front of her. To her left, there was a rather large stack of them. The office was large, but not cavernous. The grey walls were mostly covered with dark bookshelves and old oil paintings that depicted Picquery's predecessors. She, herself, contrasted starkly with her mostly monochrome surroundings: she wore a long, form-fitting gown of midnight blue that was embroidered with a stylised, silvery phoenix pattern on the chest. Her hair was, as usual, hidden by a tall, glittering, intricate head-wrap. After a moment or so, she put aside her quill and raised her face to look at the Goldstein sisters. "If you're wondering about the outfit, I'm meeting with the Prussian ambassador later."

Tina blinked and shook her head. Had she been staring? Sometimes, she did that without even noticing. "Apologies. No, we're actually here because-"

"Because you want me to override Graves's directives and give you permission to track the British witch Celestia Prewett, whom you suspect of being a Grindelwald supporter and not, as Graves assures me, an agent working for him."

A strange little silence ensued. Tina refrained from exchanging a look with Queenie, as well as from telling the President that that had been one heck of a run-on sentence. As her dad had loved telling her when she'd been a child: nobody liked a smartass. She cleared her throat, her knuckles pressed to her lips. "Madam President, I'm not in the habit of going behind Mister Graves's back."

"Is that so? I've been told that you are rather fond of sporadic bouts of insubordination," Picquery returned, unimpressed.

It wasn't always easy, translating her thoughts and emotions into appropriate words. Tina gathered herself, crossed her arms, and took a deep, soothing breath. "That's never my intention. I don't want to undermine Mister Graves's authority – really. It's just that, in this case" – She threw up her hands, just _willing_ Picquery to understand what was at stake, here – "he's mistaken. I _know_ he's mistaken."

Picquery didn't reply for a moment. The expression on her face was unreadable as she scrutinised Tina, then Queenie, then Tina again. Finally, she said, "Is that why you brought your sister? So she can disclose some evidence to me that didn't convince your direct superior?"

Tina felt her chances for success slipping away completely. This was so frustrating! It was all she could do to keep her cool, and she wasn't sure how well she was managing. Her success rate was questionable at best. She closed her eyes for a few seconds. "I have nothing more to offer to you than I did to him, but please, you have to listen to me. Celestia Prewett will double-cross us the moment she gets her hands on the frozen heart. She may not be a Grindelwald fanatic, but her sister is, and how probable is it that they're not working together after Nocturna Prewett busted her out of here? They cannot, under any circumstances, get their hands on the frozen heart!"

"Mister Graves trusts Miss Prewett," Picquery replied, the picture of calmness. She locked eyes with Queenie. "Is he mistaken? You looked into her mind, didn't you?"

Queenie, pointedly ignoring her sister's stare, nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I did."

"And?"

"Miss Prewett was very concerned about the man she loves, one Alastair Fawley. As far as I could tell, she'd do anything to save him."

"You saw no evidence of sympathy for Grindelwald's cause in her mind?"

"No, but that doesn't mean much. There are ways of hiding thoughts behind powerful emotions that would make those thoughts hard to spot even for me."

Even if the whole exercise was probably doomed to failure, Tina was immensely grateful to her sister, who really was doing her best to support Tina despite her trepidations.

Picquery just looked at Queenie for a moment, before focussing her attention on Tina again. She folded her hands atop the parchment laid out in front of her. "Miss Goldstein, I do _not_ approve of your mutinous tendencies. There is a chain of command for a reason, and you'd be smart to simply do your job and not defy your superiors at every turn if you wish to continue your employment at the MACUSA. Going behind Percival Graves's back is not just rude, but it undermines his authority, and I will not stand for that. Besides, I have better things to do than get sucked into your juvenile little schemes. Is any of that unclear?"

During the little speech, Tina just stared at her, chewing on the inside of her lower lip. This was bad. This was so, so bad. How was she supposed to do her job if her hands were tied all the time? To her, this made no sense at all. Instead, she said, "No, ma'am."

"Good." Picquery picked up her quill again. "Now, I'm going to sign a permit for you to track Celestia Prewett's wand."

Tina stared at Queenie, who only shrugged, and then at Picquery. "Madam President?"

Picquery didn't look up as she grabbed a blank parchment and started writing on it. "You heard me correctly, Miss Goldstein. No, I don't condone your conduct, but in this case, I happen to agree with you: Mister Graves's trust in Prewett mystifies me. She is not to be trusted and must be tracked." She signed the document and held it out to Tina, who hurried forward and all but snatched it from her hand. "Now go and do your job, but be warned: one more step out of line, and you'll be signing permits for wands until the day you drop."

* * *

 **4** **When Celestia and Nocturna re-joined the others, they had, to Celestia's relief, found the other enchanted galleon.** The group reconvened on Continental Avenue. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still grey, and everyone was soaking wet.

"So, what now?" Ares said sullenly, as he unsuccessfully tried out sorting his almost white hair with his fingers.

Celestia was holding the galleons up and scrutinising the series of numbers on their sides. They had been enchanted to only reveal their secrets to her; her contact did not take any chances. That was a good sign. "Now," she said, "we go to the coordinates engraved on the galleons. That's where we'll find our next clue."

"Do you have any idea what that'll look like?" Leta said. She sounded rather cheery and didn't seem to be bothered by the rain.

That was a little strange, Celestia had to admit. She'd never pegged Leta as being much of an outdoorsy person. "No," she admitted, doing her best to not look at Ares, who no doubt would be rolling his eyes by now. Maybe she was being unfair, but frankly, he'd never done much to earn any benefit of the doubt from her part. "But my contact assured me that I'll know it once I see it."

"We shouldn't all go," Ethel, who was standing to Ares's right, opined. All eyes were on her. "Someone's got to take care of Goldstein."

"Goldstein's been told to back off," Apollo said.

Ethel gave him a look that was half indulgent and half annoyed. "Honey, you don't know that harpy half as well as I do. Graves might have her on a leash, but she's dogged and doesn't ever give up. She'll ignore her orders if she thinks she's doing the right thing."

"I say we risk it," Leta said. "One rogue Auror against the lot of us stands no chance."

"I say we lure her into a trap and kill her," Ethel said, grinning. She had a gap between her incisors that gave her a roguish, youthful levity that belied her true character. "She's a nuisance, that one, and the world will be better off without the likes of her."

Celestia stared at her, disbelieving. Only now did she feel how cold she was. Her stomach was a bowl filled with lead. "You cannot be serious."

"Why not? Why do you care? Is Goldstein a friend of yours, hon?"

"No," Celestia said, taken aback, "but I happen to not be a murderer."

Everyone exchanged knowing looks, and Celestia felt like Disapparating and leaving the lot of them behind.

"Tia," Nocturna said, putting an arm around her sister's shoulders, "sometimes, we can't afford to hold onto all our ideas of morality. They're all fine and dandy, but we're at war. The greater good demands personal sacrifices from all of us."

" _I'm not a Grindelwald acolyte, Nana!_ " Celestia snapped, and only just didn't shake off Nocturna's arm. "Self-defence is fine, but flat-out murder?"

Again, everyone exchanged knowing looks. Again, Celestia felt like just running away from them.

Ares said, "I told you she didn't have the guts to do what is needed."

That was too much. Before she even knew what she was doing, Celestia stepped forward and slapped him across the face – hard. "You don't know anything, you conceited little piece of refuse," she said, her voice little more than a tremulous whisper. "You don't know where I've been. You don't know what I've seen, what I've done. So don't you dare judge me ever again, or you can find out if I have the guts to get really nasty."

Ares just stared at her, his pale eyes narrowed, his usually pallid cheek reddened from the slap. He pressed his lips together into a bloodless line and balled his hands into fists.

After an uncomfortable little silence, Ethel whispered lowly and then laughed. "Hell hath no fury and all that," she said, and nudged the visibly incensed Ares in the side. "Oh, chill, sweetie, won't ya? You insulted her, and she slapped you for your troubles. Fair is fair."

To Celestia's surprise, Ares relaxed. He…wait, did he smile when he glanced at Ethel? Hm. How very odd. He said, "I should try to keep certain thoughts to myself. They're counter-productive; I realise that."

This was as close to an apology as Celestia was ever going to get. Besides, she was already starting to feel bad about resorting to violence. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"Now that we've got that one out of the way," Apollo said, giving his ex-wife an almost amused look, "we need to decide whether we run the risk of letting the Goldstein woman catch up to us or not."

"It would be unwise. She's enough of a threat to be a risk to our enterprise, even if Graves ordered her to stand down," Ethel said, serious again.

Celestia had no idea what to think. On the one hand, she could understand why the others wanted a particularly persistent Auror off their backs. On the other hand, they were talking about cold-blooded murder. They could call it a sacrifice to the greater good until they turned blue, but that didn't change a thing. Murder was murder, and that was always wrong. Then, she thought about Alastair, and all the things she was willing to do for him. Could she lose so much sight of herself, to the point of condoning or even committing murder? Could she ever be responsible for the death of another human being? She had no idea, and that was more than just a little frightening.

Briefly, she wondered about Percival Graves's role in all of this again. Did he believe Celestia to be his agent? Was he actually the mole working for Grindelwald? Did it matter? Well, in the end, of course it did, but for the nonce, he was aiding her and keeping the Aurors – most of them, at least – off her back. That was what she needed to focus on. The only thing that mattered was finding the frozen heart and saving Alastair. Everything else was secondary, even her conscience.

"All right," she said, her voice trembling a little, "I cave. Let's get rid of the Auror."


	13. Learning the Game

**Learning the Game**

 **1914**

 **1** **"…so I do believe that the book is quite mistaken.** The text is over fifty years old, mind you. In my opinion, if the _Hibernus Horridus_ does go so far as to project its frozen heart, it probably won't live for more than a year. Of course, I can't prove anything at this point, but one day, I will. I just hope they haven't become extinct, yet, but I don't believe so. There's been a reported sighting at-" Newt interrupted himself when he saw that Leta was frowning, seemingly rather consternated, and scanning the Great Hall – more specifically, the Slytherin table. He leaned back a little and scrutinised her closely.

She was a bit fidgety, wasn't she? Her shoulders were visibly tense, she was chewing on the inside of her lower lip, and she was drumming on the table-top with the fingertips of her left hand. Also, she hadn't been listening to a word he'd been telling her.

Trying not to be too disappointed and reminding himself that she was only not listening because she was obviously upset about something, he reached out and gingerly touched her shoulder. "Leta?"

"Hm?" She barely looked at him.

"Why are you staring at the Slytherins?" He glanced at the table in question, too, but found nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed a bit on the empty side for this time of morning. However, that wasn't anything to be alarmed about, especially on a Friday. Less than a third of the students had classes this early on Fridays. Sometimes, people simply did not want to eat breakfast, either. It happened. "Leta, why are you staring at the Slytherins?"

This time, she snapped out of it. Blinking, she half-turned to face him. "I…what? I wasn't staring at anybody."

He didn't even try to hide his consternation this time. "Remember when I told you that I can tell when you're lying? I wasn't joking."

Her slight confusion made way for irritation. "I'm not lying, Newt. Your go-to assumption shouldn't be that I'm hiding something from you." Well, wasn't that an odd reply? Usually, she only got defensive like this when there actually was something going on.

The overreaction to his calm remark didn't exactly help assuage his doubts, either. "So I was just boring you? Is that why you didn't hear a word of what I said?" he said, instead.

She looked confused again for a second. Then, she shook her head and took his hand. "What? No! Of course not. I just didn't sleep very well. I'm having some trouble concentrating. My head hurts, too. It's got nothing to do with you – honestly."

It wasn't something he could pinpoint, but for some reason, her answer was too glib to be honest. They hadn't exactly met yesterday. However, if she didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to talk about it. He certainly would not insist on something that went against her will.

He said, "All right. I'm sorry. Maybe you should go to the nurse and get something for the headache?"

Leta, who was sitting straight again and eyeing the Slytherins with unmistaken apprehension written all over her face, said, "Mm? No, no, I'll be fine. Don't you worry."

This was getting too weird for his taste. Not that he cared a lick about anything being labelled as such, being who he was, but she was hiding something from him. That couldn't be good. He had to admit to himself that he didn't like being left out of the loop, no, but this wasn't like Leta at all. She shared everything she deemed important with him. When she lied, it was because she believed that he wouldn't approve of whatever she was up to. If it were simply something she didn't want to talk about, she'd tell him that in no uncertain terms. This, however, was highly suspicious. He just hoped she didn't have anything in mind that could get her into trouble.

When he was about to speak up again, she relaxed visibly, even smiling a little. What had changed? One glance at the Slytherin table told her that fellow fifth-year Petronius Flint had arrived. He and Leta exchanged a little look. Did Petronius _nod_ at Leta? Really? What on Earth for? They weren't even friendly with each other, let alone friends. Now, they were sharing a secret nod? What the blazes was even going on anymore?

This made no sense to Newt. His stomach churned. He felt cold and only just managed to supress the urge to jump up and march outside. Why was Leta nervous about a Slytherin boy who almost failed to show up for breakfast on some random Friday morning? What did she have to do with him? Why was she evading questions? What did any of it mean?

That was when he realised that he was being paranoid. No, he and Leta hadn't really talked about…well, how to call the change in their relationship, but it was something other than friendship now. She'd never hurt him by starting to see another boy. She wouldn't. Never would she do such an ugly thing. No, if she started liking someone else, she'd tell him. Of course she would. Of course.

He pressed his knuckles to his lips and discreetly cleared his throat.

Thankfully unaware of his disconcerting train of thought, Leta turned to him, smiling warmly. "Want to go outside into the sunshine with me for a bit? History of Magic's still fifteen minutes away."

Everything was confusing. He blinked at her, feeling as if he'd wandered into a parallel dimension of sorts. "I, er…yes. All right." It was better to just go along with it for the moment. It was better to simply hope for the best. He and Leta were more than just best friends, after all.

She wouldn't lie to him about anything important.

* * *

 **2** **After a particularly exasperating and exhausting reading session that lasted four hours,** Celestia and the rest of her little study group decided to call it a day and end their Thursday evening by just sitting in the Slytherin Common Room, chatting about trivialities. There was, after all, only so much information a person could absorb before their mind was saturated. At about nine in the evening, Celestia noticed that Alastair was losing his fight against his weariness: he kept dozing off, despite the ambient noise level being rather impressive. Many of the students didn't have any classes on Friday morning, meaning they could stay up and be useless for longer on Thursdays.

When Alastair's chin dropped to his collarbone for the fifth time, Celestia had enough. She gently shook his shoulder.

He jolted awake, drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils, rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, and yawned. "Sorry about that. Did someone say something important?"

"You are going straight to bed," Celestia said, whilst Apollo and Aceso just snickered. Alastair made a face, but she wouldn't have it. "I'm serious. You're dead on your feet. Please, do yourself a favour before you start snoring and drooling."

"I do neither, of which you, dearest Miss Prewett, are perfectly aware."

Aceso and Apollo just exchanged a meaningful look.

Celestia, feeling a little warm in the face, slapped Alastair's arm. "I know no such thing. Don't be so cheeky and don't deflect. You need to go to sleep."

"And I shall obey this order, lest I provoke your unending ire, oh cruel yet breathtakingly lovely mistress of my heart," Alastair replied, and pushed himself up to his feet.

"That was _terrible!_ " Aceso cried out, laughing.

Apollo just chuckled, shaking his head.

"Even for you, that was atrocious, dear," Celestia said warmly, and gave his hand a squeeze before slapping his calf. "Go to bed." She enunciated every word with extra care.

"Aye, aye, Captain." He pressed his hands to the small of his back, stretched, and yawned. "I think you might be onto something, here, my love." After giving Celestia's jawline a little pinch, he sauntered off in direction of the boys' dormitory.

Something weird happened, then. From the far side of the Common Room, Petronius Flint, the Quidditch Captain, nearly toppled over his chair as he got up in a flash and hurried after Alastair. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular fellow of white but sun-tanned skin, short-cropped brown hair, and he was considerably faster than Alastair even at a walking pace. In no time, he'd skidded past Alastair, blocking his way.

"What does Ronny Flint want with your beau?" Aceso whispered, leaning forward and toward Celestia, who only shrugged.

"Whatever it is, it won't be about Quidditch," Apollo said.

Well, that was most certainly true.

Petronius started talking to Alastair in a quiet voice – quiet enough that nobody in the vicinity could hear him. Alastair replied something, to which Petronius gave him a look that could only be described as apologetic. He patted the just as tall, but much skinnier Alastair so hard on the shoulder, the latter's knees buckled. Little later, Petronius went back to his seat. Alastair shrugged, turned back to Celestia, raised his hands in a typical no-idea-either gesture, and proceeded into the appropriate dormitory.

Celestia pondered getting up and following him, or merely asking Petronius what he'd wanted, but decided against it. Whatever it was, it could wait until tomorrow. It had been a long day.

* * *

 **3** **Since they wanted to spend as much time together as possible,** Celestia and Alastair had all the same classes. Other than most of their fifth-year classmates, they'd chosen to take Ancient Runes on Friday morning for extra credit. Another option would have been Muggle Studies in the afternoon, but neither of them cared much for the subject. Besides, they liked to have the late afternoon to themselves; it was when the Quidditch Team practiced and when the Slytherin Common Room was mostly deserted.

This morning, though, Alastair failed to show up in the Common Room at the usual time. It was, to put it mildly, rather unusual: he was one of the most punctual people that she had ever met. When the few others who had to get up early had already left for the Great Hall, Celestia was still waiting, tapping her foot and growing more antsy by the minute. In fifteen minutes, their class would start. Had he overslept? It'd be the first time since she'd ever met him. Had-

Her stomach panged.

Was something wrong with him?

She needed to make sure he was all right. Trying not to let her anxiety get out of control (he'd mock her mercilessly), she hurried down the hall and to the door that led to his dormitory. Outside the closed door, she hesitated. No sound came out from the inside of the room. Well, she'd seen the other boys Alastair shared the room with leave for breakfast. He'd probably just overslept. Yes, it would be the first time ever this happened to him, but there was always a first time, wasn't there?

Telling herself to stop being silly, she rapped her knuckles against the door. "Alley? Are you awake?" No reply came. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. Then, she tried again. "Alley? Alley!" Nothing. Gingerly, she opened it a little. " _Alastair_."

"What are you doing?"

Apollo's voice right behind her made her flinch. She spun around to him, her heart thundering. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

He gave her a mildly surprised look. "You're the one hovering at my dormitory. I just forgot my textbook on my nightstand."

"No. I mean, yes." She waved off, irritated at herself. "We're going to be late for class, and we're never late for class. I was just wondering if…well, if something might be wrong."

"With Alastair?" Apollo frowned a little. "Come to think about it, he got up in the middle of the night at least twice to get a glass of water. He was coughing. Ronny said he spilt some potion or other on Alastair's sheet, but that he changed it immediately afterward. Maybe Alastair reacted badly to that?"

There was a pang in her stomach. She stared up at him, wide-eyed. "Could you…could you please look?" For a couple of seconds, she feared he might make fun of her.

To her relief, he nodded, unsmiling. "Wait here."

Interminable seconds ticked by. She just stood there, telling herself that she was being an idiot, that Alastair would have every reason to make fun of her, that-

"Celestia, come in here." Apollo's tone was serious, tense – alarmed.

Alarmed. Oh, God. Something had happened.

She pushed the door open and hurried to where Apollo was standing, by Alastair's bedside. "What is it?" What she saw made her breath hitch in her throat.

Alastair was lying on his back, unconscious. He was bathed in sweat; his dark hair was plastered to his skull. He was wheezing. His face was flushed read, covered in ugly pustules that leaked pus. Heat radiated off of him. Blood was running out his nose and the corners of his eyes. His lips were cracked.

"Alley," she said softly, and wiped a strand of his hair from his clammy forehead. Seeing him like this was a nightmare. _This_ was a nightmare. Her whole body felt as heavy as lead. "I'll go get the nurse."

"What's that smell?" Apollo made a face. "Sewage? It's _ghastly_. Ronny must have not managed to clean up all the potion he spilled."

"I don't…" She trailed off when she did catch a whiff of something strange, like rotten leaves. Not that it mattered at the moment. "I'll go get the nurse. Please stay with him, Apollo."

"Maybe I should call Professor-"

" _Apollo_. Stay with him, please." She briefly touched his arm and then ran off.

* * *

 **4** **Ancient Rules class was conspicuously empty that morning,** as none of the Slytherin fifth-years showed up: not Apollo Malfoy, not Celestia Prewett, not Alastair Fawley. This was more than just a little strange, as none of them ever missed class – ever. They all had their families exerting pressure on them to succeed academically, and the O.W.L.s were just around the corner.

As Newt sat at his desk, trying to translate the text they were supposed to translate and failing, he couldn't help but notice Leta's oddly chipper demeanour. That was the strangest aspect of it all, wasn't it? At breakfast, she had been absent-minded and fidgety right up until Petronius Flint had shown up and given her a conspiratorial nod. After that, her mood had taken a 180° turn. She was sunny now, smiling to herself, translating away merrily. Usually, at this point during class, she would have complained at least twice about how boring and useless it all was. Today, though? None of that. It even looked as if she were having fun.

He put aside his quill and looked at her sideways. Despite how stuffy the air was in the classroom, he felt a little cold, a little uncomfortable in his own skin. His head was aching. She'd done something bad, hadn't she? She'd lied to him and taken some sort of revenge on the three Slytherins that had humiliated her at the Yule Ball. His thoughts were racing. What could she have done that would keep all three of them away from class?

Come to think about it, he hadn't seen seventh-year Ares Malfoy, the best student in all of Hogwarts, at the Slytherin table, either.

That was when it occurred to him, and his blood turned to ice: the bundimun. Two days ago, during their trek into the Forbidden Forest, she'd got angry when he'd asked her if she'd dropped one of the creatures. She'd been very interested on what they were and why people thought of them as pests. Had she…

…no. No. Oh, no. He needed to perish the thought. She wouldn't do something mean-spirited like that. She wouldn't lie to him and use him to find an opportunity to get back at the Slytherins. She wouldn't. She couldn't.

Well, even if she had, she'd probably only had a harmless prank in mind, something mildly unpleasant for the intended victims. There were two problems, though: first, there were people who were severely allergic to the little creatures; two, this would mean she'd used an innocent living thing as an instrument of revenge. That was…

… _no!_ She hadn't. This was ridiculous.

There was, however, only one way to get rid of this unsettling suspicion. Bracing himself for a scolding, he leaned slightly in her direction, and whispered, "Leta, please tell me you didn't pay off Petronius Flint to plant a bundimun in the Slytherin Common Room."

She tensed up visibly and stopped writing. Not taking her eyes off the page, she whispered back, "If I had done such a thing, I'd pay Flint to place it in the dormitory – much more effective."

Suddenly, he felt tired – tired enough to want to just lie down and sleep for a week. He scratched his forehead. "This was a terrible idea. You should've told me. If you get caught, they'll-"

"Newt, relax. I won't get caught. Let me work in peace, before the professor takes away House Points from Hufflepuff."

He pressed his lips together and did his best to keep his cool. "This won't go away. You-"

A booming announcement interrupted him: " _All fifth-year students are to gather in the Great Hall immediately. Cease your current activities at once. I repeat: all fifth-year students are to gather in the Great Hall immediately_."

This was bad. Something serious had happened. The ten or so people in the classroom gathered their things and rose to their feet, questioning looks on their faces. Newt stared at Leta, who ignored him completely and marched out of the room, her own face faintly flushed.

* * *

 **5** **The tables had been pushed to the sides,** so that the students had room to stand right in front of the podium at the far end of the Great Hall. From above shone an almost white light: the ceiling was mimicking the pale winter sunshine. Most of the teachers were there, grave looks on the faces. Behind the podium stand stood Headmaster Black, his sharp-angled yet jowly face pale and solemn. He scanned the faces of the students before him intently, squinting, as if he were trying to read their minds. To Newt's knowledge, though, he wasn't a Legilimens.

Half an eternity ticked by as the students just stood there, confused and uneasy, and the teachers either glowered at them or looked highly concerned. Leta was standing to Newt's right. One glance at her revealed to him that she was trying hard not to let her anxiety show. Her jaw was set, she was staring blankly ahead, her hands balled into fists.

At length, Phineas Nigellus Black cleared his throat, grasped the edges of the podium stand with his gnarly hands, and said, "Students, something very serious has happened – very serious. One of your classmates, Alastair Fawley, almost died this morning." He paused to wait for the inevitable murmurs to die down.

Newt looked around. Neither Celestia Prewett, nor Apollo Malfoy were there.

The Headmaster continued: "He fell victim to a severe allergic reaction caused by a type of vermin called bundimun. This was not an accident. The creature was placed near Mister Fawley's bed on purpose." Again, he waited until the murmurs died down. "One of you is responsible this; we know that much. If you step forward now and confess your guilt, this will work in your favour."

Naturally, no-one volunteered information. Leta just stood there, paralysed, whilst Newt felt as if caught in a nightmare.

To Black's right, Transfigurations Professor Albus Dumbledore said, "Headmaster, if I may?"

Black only nodded.

Dumbledore let his gaze wander over the group of rattled fifth-years. "None of us believe that there was any malice involved in the act. However, some pranks have a way of getting out of hand. If whoever is responsible could-"

"One of my students _almost died, Dumbledore!_ " Black cut in sharply. He turned to the fifth-years again. "Whoever did this will be found, and I promise you that punishment will be severe unless you confess to your crime at this very moment."

Newt almost gave into the temptation of nudging Leta. What was she _thinking?_ They'd find out for sure! This had been an accident. She hadn't intended to actually risk Alastair Fawley's life! Two days ago, she hadn't even known that the creatures existed. But if she didn't talk, the Headmaster would without a doubt expel her. It wasn't as if Petronius Flint could be counted on keeping silent – that was, if he hadn't already talked. He'd most definitely save his own neck, and Newt wouldn't even be able to blame him.

Headmaster Black's expression darkened even further. "Very well. If you won't come forward, we will find out the truth by ourselves. You are dismissed."

Slowly, the group of students disbanded. Newt turned to Leta to say something, but she marched off so quickly, it was only just short of a run.

* * *

 **6** **Celestia sat by Alastair's bed in the Hospital Wing, holding his hand,** feeling strangely removed from herself. His heart had given out at some point. Apollo had pulled her away from the bed as Alastair had been revived. She'd wept. It had been the most peculiar sensation: she'd known exactly what had been happening, what she'd been doing, but none of it had registered with her – not really.

Now, she was sitting there in silence, holding his hand in her left, caressing it with her right. Her eyes and throat were sore and she felt a bit queasy, but otherwise fine. Alastair's fever had gone down; the pustules on his face had all but disappeared, but he was still unconscious, still having trouble breathing. He'd almost _died_. It was difficult for her to wrap her mind around this: Alastair had almost died. He'd been an inch away from death. She'd almost lost him forever. If she and Apollo had decided to investigate any later, he might not have pulled through.

He almost didn't. His heart had stopped. He'd ceased breathing. Alastair. Her Alastair. By the skin of his teeth, he had survived; he almost hadn't. He almost hadn't.

She couldn't even begin contemplate the possibility of losing him. A life without Alastair? Inconceivable. What would she do? How could she ever hope to cope with such a loss? It was better not to think about it. Tenderly, she wiped a strand of his nearly black hair from his pale forehead and traced the sharp, aquiline line of his nose with her fingertips.

He moved a little, breathed deeper.

"It's all right, sweetheart," she said lowly, bent down, and placed a kiss on his prominent cheekbone. "You're going to be all right. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." She heard firm steps approaching.

"His condition is improving, the nurse tells me." It was Apollo.

Celestia didn't look up. "It is, thank God." Her voice was raspy, her throat and eyes sore.

"The Headmaster spoke to his parents. They're on their way here."

"Good." Sluggishly, she half-turned in order to be able to look up at Apollo. "Thank you for being here for me. I know we have our differences, but don't think that I don't appreciate your friendship."

Apollo smiled a little. "Don't even mention it. Of course I'm here for you. Of course I'm your friend. We're all Slytherins. We stick together." He turned serious. "Ronny won't say who asked him to place the bundimun under Alastair's mattress, yet, but you and I both know who must be responsible."

Pain was radiating from her back up to her head. With her free hand, she massaged her neck. "Ronny doesn't want to be a snitch. It's bad manners. I don't blame him."

"He talked to Ares after you called the nurse. They went to see the Headmaster together. Poor Ronny was completely beside himself. He insisted on coming here immediately, but we thought it was better if everyone calmed down, first. It seems as if he was lied to and told that this was to be a harmless little joke."

"By whom?"

Arching an eyebrow, he said, "Do you really need to ask?"

She turned to look down at Alastair again, who was sleeping, now – sleeping uneasily after nearly dying. Her throat turned dry. Her face felt hot. Her hands were trembling. She felt like breaking something. "Leta Lestrange."

"With Scamander's help, no doubt."

"No. If he helped her, he did so unwittingly. He's not the type for this kind of thing."

"If you say so. In any case, the truth will out, and the culprits will be punished. Professor Black asked us to persuade Ronny to tell the truth and not cling to his ill-conceived notion of chivalry. I'm sure he'll understand that it's for the best. Everything will be well."

"Alley will be fine. That's what matters most to me." She felt his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll come back once I know more."

"Thank you, Apollo – really," she said, closing her sore eyes for a moment. "I'll just sit here until he wakes up."

* * *

 **7** **Newt found Leta outside, by the lake, just standing in stony silence by the shore,** staring out at the dark-blue water. Her usually light-brown complexion was uncharacteristically ashen. She was having some trouble keeping her breathing calm.

"Leta."

She didn't even glance at him. "I've got nothing to say."

He recoiled as if slapped. "To me or to the Headmaster? Because you and I both know that you're responsible for what happened to Alastair Fawley."

"It was Petronius Flint who actually did it," she replied, obstinate.

The strongest urge to just spin around on his heels and march away from her overcame him. Thankfully, he was stronger than his impulses. He briefly covered his face with his hands. Then, the moment had passed. He let his arms drop loosely to his sides. "Don't be a child, please. Flint will tell on you to avoid expulsion. If you don't go back inside this very moment to tell the Headma-"

"You've got to help me, Newt." She turned around to him, and he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. "Please. I…I made a spur-of-the-moment decision when we were in the Forbidden Forest! I didn't know Fawley would react the way he did! I…" She trailed off, mopped at her eyes, then gave him the most miserable look he'd ever seen her sport. "This can't be happening. They'll kick me out of Hogwarts! My parents will _kill_ me! _What am I gonna do?_ "

"Calm down," he said, and gently placed his hands on her slim shoulders. "It was an accident. No-one is getting kicked out. We'll go back in, explain what happened, and then-"

"No! I can't do that! I almost killed Alastair Fawley, Newt! Everyone's gonna hate me!" She really was as close to a panic attack as he'd ever seen her.

"Leta," he said, locking eyes with her, "you need to calm down and think about this. The teachers will find out the truth. The Headmaster is a Black. He was a Slytherin and is exceedingly partial to that House. He is also relatively closely related to Celestia Prewett, Alastair Fawley's sweetheart. Needless to say, he will not be inclined to show you any mercy if you don't confess before you get caught."

She stared up at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You don't understand. I _cannot_ be caught doing anything untoward – I just can't. I went into the Forbidden Forest. I poisoned Fawley. I looked a complete fool at the Yule Ball. They _hate_ me, Newt – all of them. You don't know." She shook her head. Her face was a mask of pure wretchedness. "You _don't know_. You cannot know what it's _like!_ I'll be an even worse pariah than I'm now! This could ruin me."

As this was his go-to response to awkward situations, he smiled a little. "Aren't you being a tad dramatic?"

"No. Believe me, I wish I were, but I'm not. If they catch me, those people will ruin me: the Fawleys, the Blacks, the Malfoys – all those Pureblood morons. They're all related to each other and they all stick together. Why do you think they've been treating me like vermin all along? What do you think is gonna happen once this comes out? I can't. I just _can't_." Her eyes filled with tears again. In a small, trembling voice, she added, "What do I do?"

It hurt him to see her like this. What he wanted the most was to just turn back time and insist that they find the missing bundimun, insist that she drop her ill-conceived revenge plans. That wasn't possible, though. Unless he broke into the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, he couldn't exactly get his hands on a time turner. "Whatever happens, I'll be there for you." Again, he made himself smile, even though he realised how awkward it must look. "You won't have to go through this alone. I'm by your side – always."

Through her tears, she smiled back at him. It was a small, timid thing, but all the more beautiful to him. "Thank you, Newt." She hugged him closely around his skinny waist and rested her head on his shoulder. "You don't know what that means to me."

He hugged her back. His heart was heavy. This wasn't going to go away. He still believed that it would be best if she just confessed her sins and apologised to Fawley, but she was right about one thing: he really didn't know what it was like to live in the midst of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight Families. Maybe her fears were justified; Newt would never contribute to her misery willingly. But what to _do?_ This was such a mess – such a terrible, complicated mess.

It wasn't going to go away. That was the only thing he was absolutely sure of.


	14. Nightswimming

**Nightswimming**

 **1925**

 **1** **The next clue was, according to the coordinates written on the enchanted galleons,** hidden close to an abandoned barn, in the middle of nowhere, on some godforsaken field. It would have been preferable to travel to the place via Floo Network or Portkey, but both methods were more likely to lead unwanted intruders to the place in question than Apparition. Celestia didn't exactly feel comfortable Apparating (semi-) blindly, but after everything she'd already done and everything she was still planning to do, this seemed almost tame. Besides, they weren't Apparating blindly, per se; they had the exact coordinates to the place in question, even though none of them had ever set eyes on that field.

The plan was simple: first, they would find the next clue. Then, Celestia would switch wands with Apollo and continue on to meet her contact – she and Nocturna, that was. Apollo, Ares, and Ethel would then stay behind and kill the Auror Goldstein, should she show up in the hopes of catching Celestia. Ethel's assumption was that Goldstein would use MACUSA resources in order to track Celestia's wand and through her, the frozen heart. If that were the case, Goldstein would no doubt be acting more or less alone; she'd walk directly into a death trap. Maybe Goldstein wouldn't defy her superior. Maybe she'd stay in New York and just do as she'd been told. Probably not, though, according to Ethel, who was the only one who actually knew the Auror personally. If Goldstein really did track Celestia's wand and follow it, she'd be murdered in cold blood. Celestia wouldn't be the one to cast the killing curse, but she'd be directly responsible – no use in pretending otherwise. She would become a murderer. She would cross a line that could never, ever be uncrossed. A human being would be dead because of her.

It was better not to think about that too much.

The group Apparated on a grassy, windy field that stretched on for several acres in every direction. In the middle of the field stood a rather dilapidated red barn with a partially caved-in roof. Farther away, the field was framed by a dark-green forest. The sky was blue, and a pale sun was shining.

"Where are we?" Ares all but shouted. He was trying to keep the wind from messing up his hair, with zero success.

"No idea," his brother said, shrugging. "But who cares? We're where we're supposed to be. Let's find the next clue and get this sorry affair over with." He pulled up the collar of his black coat. "Do we proceed as we did in the forest?"

Celestia, trying to ignore her own hair problems, nodded. "Yes."

Apollo smiled a little. "Let's not waste any time, then." He raised his wand. " _Invenio_." A small sphere of white light appeared. "Lovely." He turned around and marched off.

Everyone else did the same.

Again, Celestia was joined by her sister.

"You don't seem happy," Nocturna said, as they trudged through the swaying sea of green toward the barn. "So close to success, and you're still sad." She sounded so concerned, it was enough to break a person's heart.

"I'm not sad," Celestia said. One glance at Nocturna revealed to her that the former wasn't buying the talk. "Really, I'm not." Her foot caught on some hole in the ground or something similar, and she stumbled, but didn't fall. Not that it would matter. Her clothes were mud-stained, anyway. She wished the MACUSA goons had given her briefcase back, but it was still being inspected for illegal contraband. Americans and their bureaucracy.

"Wistful, then. Depressed. Melancholic. Call it what you will."

Celestia brushed a knotted strand of her ruddy hair from her face. It didn't help. Two seconds later, it was dancing in front of her eyes again like a panicking bird. How to put into words what she was feeling without sounding whiny and self-important? Nocturna was her sister, though. If a person couldn't disburden their heart to their own sister, then to whom?

Only a couple of years ago, Celestia's answer would have been 'to Alastair'. Well. There was something poetic about coming full circle inside her own mind, wasn't there? She said, "I keep trying to remember the most beautiful things I lived through – all the good things. But everything feels like it got drowned in the daily grind of this past year. My memories have become distorted reflections on a windowpane. I see everything through water." She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I'm finding it harder and harder to remember how any of it felt. This quest has become my life. It's as if there's nothing beyond it."

"But now, you're days away from completing it. You should be rejoicing."

"I'll believe it once it's over. I refuse to allow myself to celebrate a victory I haven't achieved, yet."

"You should allow yourself to feel hope, though."

"Hope, dear Nana," Celestia said, her eyes fixed on the growing sphere of light emanating from her wand, "is the driving force of this whole affair."

"You mean your quest or Alastair in general?"

That was almost amusing. "Both."

They were getting closer to the barn. The others were approaching it, too, from the other side.

"You won't change your mind at the worst possible moment, will you?" Nana's tone had grown sharp, suspicious. She'd never been particularly inclined to mask her emotions. "About Goldstein. She's a terrible nuisance. Worse than that: she could compromise this entire mission. We're at war and can't afford sentimentality."

"Like the kind I'm prone to, you mean? You wouldn't be speechifying otherwise." Celestia cast her sister a quick look over her shoulder. "I'm still hoping she won't be showing up."

"From what I've seen of her and from what Ethel's told us, that seems unlikely."

Squinting in the sunlight, Celestia said, "What's the history there? And who is this Ethel person, anyway?"

To Celestia's surprise, Nocturna laughed.

"What's funny?" Celestia felt a bit like the only person in the group who couldn't get the joke.

"It's just that sometimes, life is more interesting than any of us would've thought."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's a story for another day…and don't think I haven't noticed how you've deflected from the subject of killing Goldstein."

Suppressing the urge to turn around and glare at her sister, Celestia said, "I haven't. I simply don't understand why Ethel hates that one particular Auror so much, which led me to wonder who Ethel even is. But it doesn't matter. If Goldstein shows up, you'll kill her, anyway. Let's not pretend that my opinion makes any difference."

"Which is a great way for you to wash your hands of the responsibility, isn't it?" There was definitely an edge to Nocturna's voice. "After all, we're the murderers, not you. No, you're just trying to save Alastair and his family. If we're done with pretence, why don't we stop pretending that your plan won't end up killing people, too? What will they be to you, I wonder? Collateral damage? What did your goodie-two-shoes friend Scamander have to say to that?"

Despite the cold and the sharp, bitter wind, Celestia's face felt hot. Her eyes were watering. She stopped walking abruptly and spun around. "You don't know _anything_. You want to accuse _me_ of navel gazing? _Really?_ You, who just up and vanished, not giving a single damn about what your own family was going through? And all because you found a noble cause. Well, congratulations! That justifies your own hypocrisy, doesn't it? Why don't I get the same right?"

An uncomfortable moment passed as Nocturna just stared at her, wide-eyed. Then, her shoulders slumped. She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand, then raked her bony fingers through her short, carroty hair. "All right, _fine_. You have a point. I abandoned the lot of you and justified it by keeping my eye fixed on the greater good, yes. But I have a point, as well." She took a step toward Celestia. "You can't pretend that you're not involved in my affairs anymore, Tia. You never wanted to be political, but here you are. It's your decision, too. Whatever happens, the responsibility isn't just ours; it's yours, as well. Own it. Stop claiming the moral high ground. It won't work. You're not special enough to have the right when we don't."

Suddenly, all Celestia wanted to do was lie down and sleep. She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, breathed, and gathered herself. When the moment had passed, she returned Nocturna's look calmly. "You're right. I don't have the moral high ground. I'm not more special than you are, and neither are my sorrows. Whoever gets killed as the result of our actions…well, their blood will be on my hands, too. I'm sorry."

All aggressiveness just melted off Nocturna's face. She smiled; it was an honest, relieved, sweet expression that reminded Celestia of the carefree days of their youth. "It's all right. I understand." She reached out and briefly caressed the side of Celestia's face. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Celestia said, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. "Now, please, let's keep going. I don't think I could bear it if Ares were the one to find the next clue." The unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach didn't go away, though: they were planning to commit a murder. Whatever else might happen, there was no walking away from that. There was no going back. Celestia dearly hoped that the Auror Goldstein would decide to follow orders and not run into the death trap that would be waiting for her.

* * *

 **2** **The tracking spell that allowed an Auror to find a registered wand was easy.** All the Auror in question needed to do was take the copy of the permit, point their own wand at it, say the right words, and watch the magic happen – literally.

With the President's note in hand, Tina got easy access to the copy in question. Her sister by her side, she pointed her wand at the parchment, and said, " _Baculum magicum ostende mihi_."

"This is why I could never be a career girl like you, Teenie," Queenie whispered in Tina's ear. "All this Latin you have to learn. It just ain't worth the effort."

Tina smiled a little, keeping her eyes fixed on the sheet of paper. "Everyone's got a skill. Mine is dogged determination."

That was when the spell began to work: from the black letters on the parchment, golden light started to shimmer. It rose up, hovered in form of the letters above the sheet for a moment, and then seemingly streamed into Tina's wand. She raised it, gave it a little wave, and promptly, an image formed in front of it: a huge field, framed by an almost black forest. In the middle, a dilapidated old ruin of a barn stuck out like a sore thumb.

Queenie scrutinised the image, brows furrowed. "Where is that?"

"It's all in my wand, now: all the information I need," Tina said, not even trying to ban the triumph from her voice as she turned to smile at her sister. "Wherever she goes, I'll know."

"So…what now? Do we follow her?"

"I have authorisation, so yes, I'll follow her."

"No. You're allowed to track her, not follow her – not the same thing. And that spell only tracks her wand, anyway, not her."

Tina made a face and pocketed her wand. She placed her hands on Queenie's upper arms. "How likely is it that she'll go anywhere without her wand? Also, why do you think the President gave me authorisation that overrides Graves's orders, in the first place? She doesn't trust that Prewett woman. I need to keep track of her, and for that to happen, I need to follow her."

"You should talk to Mister Graves, first," Queenie said, her frown deepening.

"What? Don't be ridiculous. He's just gonna say no."

"Exactly. He's your boss, honey. If you defy him, he'll punish you – authorisation from the President or not."

"Not if I catch Prewett trying to do something she's not supposed to."

A small silence ensued.

Queenie looked down at her feet, chewed on her lower lip, exhaled sharply, and then raised her face to lock eyes with Tina again. "Fine. But I'll go with you."

Oh, great. Did stubbornness run in their family, or what? Trying not to sound condescending, because the last thing she wanted was to hurt her sister's feelings, Tina said, "You can't." Queenie opened her mouth to protest, so Tina hurried to add, "You're not an Auror. I don't want you to get hurt."

"No. You ain't going alone. I can't lose you, too." Her expression turned pleading. "All we have is each other. If I lose you, I got nothing."

Hearing these words made Tina want to cry a little. She gnashed her teeth together and sucked in a sharp breath through her nostrils. Then, she smiled again, even though it felt pained – probably looked just as bad, too. "Okay." She went serious and jabbed a finger at Queenie. "But you do as I tell you. The moment I tell you to bolt, you bolt. No heroic acts of self-sacrifice, understand?"

Queenie beamed and clapped her hands together. "None at all."

"Good." Tina nodded curtly. "Then let's not waste any more time. I got a feeling we're really close to solving this thing."

* * *

 **3** **It wasn't often that Percival Graves,** Director of Magical Security and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was visited in his office by the President herself, but today was a special day. He'd already known that she'd show up, ever since he'd told Tina Goldstein to stay the hell away from Celestia Prewett. Well, of course, Tina being Tina, she refused to listen and went behind his back to go after the British witch anyway; he knew as much from a diligent and loyal Permit Office underling. The only person allowed to override Graves's authority in his own department was Picquery. Therefore, it was only logical to assume that Tina had gone to Picquery, and that Picquery would then confront him about his decision to let Nocturna's little sister go.

These people were nothing if not predictable.

Before the Prussian ambassador arrived, Picquery showed up in Graves's office unannounced, without bothering to knock. That was one self-confident, tenacious and determined woman; one had to give her that.

Of course, the same attributes applied to Tina Goldstein, as well. That made her such a good Auror.

When Picquery strode into the room, which was no small feat considering her gaudy getup, he naturally got up from his chair. No matter what the situation, there was never any need to be rude. Also, in this case, it would be more than a little counterproductive. He tugged down on his dark-grey suit jacket. "Madam President. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

As expected, she remained standing. "You should've informed me that you recruited the sister of a known Grindelwald acolyte. Fifteen minutes ago, I was forced to defend your strange and appalling decision to that overeager Auror of yours. I could hardly tell _her_ that you only informed me – via note, no less – after the deed had already been done, but I can tell _you_ that it was a bad decision. If we had spoken face to face before you let Prewett go, I would've advised strongly against it."

He nodded, hoping it would come across as solemn. "Yes. In retrospect, I believe that I should have consulted you, first."

She shrugged, visibly exasperated. "Then why didn't you? Because you thought I wouldn't approve? If that's the case, then you were right: I don't approve. Graves, what were you _thinking?_ "

After crossing his arms and looking down at his shoes just to keep himself from sneering at her short-sightedness, he offered her a thin-lipped smile. "Madam President, you put me in charge of this department for a reason. I know recruiting Celestia Prewett is a gamble, but I'm absolutely certain that it'll pay off."

"What, you don't even have a sliver of doubt? How long have you even known this woman?"

Of course, he could hardly tell her that he didn't need to know Celestia in order to be sure that whatever decision she made, it would benefit his cause. But more than that, he knew Celestia's sister quite well. Nocturna would keep her younger sibling on the straight and narrow. She'd help the latter cure her paramour, and then, the lovely instrument of power that was the frozen heart would be theirs to use as leverage against the wizarding governments all over the world. It had been the right decision to hide in America for the time being. Who knew? Maybe this New World had even more wonders to offer than the heart of a dangerous magical beast. Only time would tell. Of that, thankfully, he had enough.

"Only a fool would have no doubts whatsoever, about himself as well as others," he told her, "but in Miss Prewett's case, I can guarantee that she will not betray me."

Her frown deepened. "You are _certain?_ "

He nodded. "Quite. She's an asset. With her help, we can keep the object she's looking for out of the hands of the Grindelwald fanatics." The masquerade was more than just a little amusing. Sometimes, he even indulged in enjoying the farce. The temptation was just too great.

Still, Picquery didn't look convinced, let alone pleased. "You should've consulted with me, first."

"I didn't know that." Again, he smiled thinly. "Next time, then."

"Next time," she echoed coolly. "See that you keep control of the situation." She turned around, walked two steps toward the door, but then stopped short. Without looking at him, she added, "Oh, and just so you know: I gave Porpentina Goldstein permission to track Prewett's wand. She's probably gonna go after her, if she hasn't already done so." With that, she left.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Predictable or no, why couldn't people just do as they were told? It wasn't as if he held any ill will toward young Tina; she was a good Auror and a very brave, decent person. Still, if she chose to get in harm's way, then that was her choice and hers alone. She would have to bear the consequences, even if that meant death.

It was time to warn Nocturna Prewett that she and her group should be expecting company.


	15. Nemesis

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Hopefully, my self-imposed hiatus is now over. **

* * *

**Nemesis  
**

 **1914**

 **1** **In the early afternoon, Alastair finally woke up. It was a slow, sluggish process.** He started squirming, his breathing quickened, and his pale cheeks flushed with the subtlest hint of colour. His eyelids started fluttering. He coughed dryly.

Quickly, Celestia got up from her chair and poured him a glass of water.

He opened his eyes, blinked, found Celestia, and smiled. Typical. Only hours after almost dying, still bed-ridden and weak, the first thing he thought of doing was giving her a smile. "Hello, beautiful."

She couldn't help but return the expression. The cold that had spread throughout her body started to fade. As she'd done a dozen times over the last few hours, she reached out to brush a strand of his hair from his forehead. "Welcome back, darling."

Again, he coughed a bit. "Ow." Laboriously, he sat up, as she propped up the pillow behind his back. When she handed him the glass of water, he smiled again. "Thank you."

"Just sip it. You're rather dehydrated and don't want to make yourself sick again."

"Good that I have you to tell me what I want. Can you even imagine what my life was like before we met? What hellish suffering I went through on a daily basis? The sheer tragedy of it threatens to rob me of my senses even to this very day." His voice was raspy and kept breaking, but higher powers were needed to stop Alastair Fawley from making stupid jokes in the most cringe-worthy, flowery prose possible. It wasn't exactly easy to ruin his good humour, either.

"If I _were_ to imagine, I might end up fainting out of pure and utter shock," she said.

He blinked at her. "You're playing along? My, oh my. My brush with the Grim Reaper must've been more dire than I first believed."

"First believed during the thirty seconds you've been awake."

"Exactly!" A small silence ensued, during which he sipped the tiniest amount of water, not taking his eyes off her. A few minutes later, he shakily placed the glass back on the nightstand. "Miss Prewett, you look like you could use a very long holiday. Would you mind telling me what exactly happened?" He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. Judging by his expression, this caused him a considerable amount of discomfort. "Because it seems to me like I really did almost die."

She looked down at her hands in her lap before facing him again. "You did. But we found you in time. You'll be fine."

A small silence ensued.

He reached out to place his right hand atop both of hers. "Now is the part where you tell me if this was a horrible, bordering on ridiculous accident or if someone paid Ronny to kill me. Because there's no way in hell this was his idea."

After taking a deep, soothing breath, she said, "Both. But before you get mad at Ronny: he had no idea that you'd get sick. It was a one-in-a-thousand chance that that disgusting pest would cause such a violent allergic reaction."

A small frown creased his forehead. "Pest? Was a pest causing that weird smell in the dormitory?"

"Something called a _bundimun_." When she saw the look of pure confusion on his face, she shrugged. "I didn't know what it was before today, either. It's a weird little animal that lives inside the Forbidden Forest."

His eyes grew wide. "Scamander, then? No, no, don't tell me. Leta Lestrange. Scamander doesn't care about me, but little Leta? She _hates_ me. She probably tricked him into giving her access to something disgusting like that."

"Can you blame her? What you and the Malfoys did to her at the Yule Ball was a really low blow."

"Your sense of justice is to be applauded. That fiendish shrew almost murders me-"

"Accidentally, and she hasn't admitted to anything yet."

"- and you defend her."

She gave him an unhappy look. "Please don't be angry with me. I just don't want you to jump to the wrong conclusions and get all worked up. You need to stay calm and recover from your ordeal." In a small voice, she added, "The last thing I want is for you to get sick again."

The frown melted off his face. He gently caressed the side of her face. "I'm not angry with you. I'm never angry with you. I don't even think I can."

Again, she smiled. "Thank you."

"I'm happy to oblige. After all, how else could I lord my moral superiority over all of my peers?"

"Good question."

He leaned his head back and closed his bloodshot eyes. "So the esteemed Miss Lestrange actually exacted revenge for our juvenile expression of light-hearted Yule fun? Impressive. I seriously did not think she had it in her to accomplish such a feat."

"I didn't, either. To be fair, I don't think she had anything quite this destructive in mind. I've been told that almost no-one is this allergic to these _bundimun_."

"I'm just that special." He looked at her again, but kept leaned back. "What do we reckon, Miss Prewett?"

"Apollo says he'll be able to convince Ronny to snitch on Leta."

A minute or so went by as he mulled it all over. Then, he said, "No."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

Alastair had, for all his verbosity, always had a rather exasperating habit of making leaps in logic in his mind and assuming that everybody else could follow him. "Leave Ronny alone. Tell him I bear him no ill will."

Confused, she squinted at him. "But Leta has to be punished for what she did, and if Ronny isn't convinced to tell Headmaster Black that he should tell on her…" She trailed off and threw up her hands, exasperated.

"I have a theory, you see," he said, again smiling a little. "Maybe we misjudged her. Maybe she's slier than she seems."

She felt a little like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well," he said, scratching the bridge of his nose, where his skin was still a little reddened from the allergic reaction, "I'll explain it to you, sweet Celestia. I'm going to make her an offer that'll test her character. Based on her reaction, I will be either able to welcome her into the illustrious circle of the well-to-do and glamorous, or declare war on her – the whole Pureblood community backing me."

A little uneasy, she scrutinised him and came to a single conclusion. "You _are_ angry."

"Of course I'm angry, but fear not! My sense of justice may not be as finely honed as yours, but I am, in my entirely warranted rage, not without reason." He pressed his fist to his lips and coughed dryly, before sucking in a shaky breath. "If you'd get her to come here and talk to me – not apologise, mind; just talk – then I'll make her a proposition that'll get her out of this pickle she manoeuvred herself into."

This wasn't good. She said, "Alley, if you're planning something shady, please remember that pranking Leta almost resulted in your death."

"Nothing shady, love. No. I just want to talk to her. I do believe she owes me that much. If she comes in her to listen to what I have to say, I'll help her come out of this mess unharmed."

"As long as she chooses to cooperate."

The corners of his mouth twitched. His eyes were feverish, making them look like they were shining. "As long as she chooses to cooperate." A few seconds later, he took her hand again. "Don't worry. Nobody will be harmed. I promise you that. I just want to get this feud resolved before it can become an outright war."

Somehow, that was hard to believe. As far as she could tell, he was hiding something, or twisting it in order to later be able to claim plausible deniability or something of that ilk. Frowning, she said, "Please just promise me you'll not make it worse."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Never."

"What? You'll never make it worse or you'll never promise?"

"I'll leave that open to interpretation."

* * *

 **2** **Leta and Newt were in the library, pretending to be doing their homework for Monday.** In reality, neither of them managed to focus on their studies at all and just kept staring at the same pages in their textbooks for who knew how long. Small wonder, really: with Petronius Flint's upcoming probable confession looming on the horizon, there was no relaxing, no getting distracted.

Finally, Newt could take it no longer. He sat up straight and looked at her, across the desk, not even trying to hide the fact that he was feeling completely miserable about the whole situation. "Leta, this is getting ridiculous." He kept his voice low, which was to be expected inside the library, anyway. "You need to tell Professor Black the truth before Flint does."

"I'm still thinking about what to do next," she whispered back, not raising her face. "Stop pressuring me, Newt. I need to do what's best for _me_. That's what matters the most, and don't even try to convince me otherwise. It won't work."

He couldn't precisely say why, but for some reason, those words struck a chord. Recoiling a little, he replied, "That's what I'm trying to do here, too: find the best solution – a peaceful, honest one."

Still not facing him, she said, "Implying that I'm not honest? Lovely."

That was too much. He felt his face get hot. "I don't have to imply _anything_."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, shut his book, gathered his things, and got up to his feet so hastily, he nearly tripped all over himself, "exactly what you think. You lied to me. You _used_ me. You got an innocent creature killed. The groundskeeper will most likely find the others in the Forbidden Forest now and kill them, too. If that weren't bad enough, you told me you were letting go of the whole Yule episode. You lied to my face just so I'd unwittingly help you get your petty revenge. How could you _do_ that?"

Finally, she raised her head. "Keep your voice down!"

Some other students were glancing in their direction.

He brushed some of his unruly, ruddy hair from his forehead, clasped his things tightly to his chest, and gave her a miserable look. "If you could, for one second, just step away from yourself, then…"

"Then what?"

That little outburst was all he had in himself right now. Deflated, he said, "Never mind," turned around, and walked out, with no idea where he was heading. All he knew was that for the first time in years, he needed to get away from her.

* * *

 **3** **Celestia saw Scamander and Leta arguing, right before he grabbed his things and hastily made his escape.** Well, that was new. With a faintly sour taste in her mouth and an aching head, she made her body move toward the desk where Leta was sitting – no, where Leta was pretending to study. Ignoring her own apprehension, Celestia said, "Leta? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Slowly, Leta raised her head. The expression on her face was wary, maybe even hostile. She tensed up. "What about?"

"Nothing bad." Now, why did that feel like a lie? "Really. Just…come out and let me talk to you for a minute. Please?"

Half an eternity ticked by, until Leta nodded curtly, said, "Fine," and stiffly rose to her feet. She gathered her things and followed Celestia outside, into the arched hallway.

They faced each other: Celestia fidgety, Leta still as stone and with her arms crossed and jaw set, her book bag slung over her shoulder.

"First things first," Celestia said, wanting nothing more than to get this over with quickly. She couldn't help but wonder what Alastair had in mind. He was shrewd and surely not willing to simply let his near-death go – regardless of how accidental it had been. "Alastair knows it was you; we all do."

"I didn't-"

"He won't tell anyone. None of us will tell. You'll be fine. More than that, the feud you've got going with the Slytherin boys? It'll be over and done with."

Leta eyed her with unmasked suspicion. "What's the catch, Prewett?"

Celestia shrugged. She only just refrained from fidgeting again. "You have to go talk to Alastair – not grovel or anything. Just listen quietly to what he has to say. Can you do that?" All of this made her feel as if she were doing something highly illegal. It was a silly notion, of course, but she couldn't help but feel a tad infected by participating. It didn't take a genius to come to the conclusion that this ugly incident wasn't simply going to evaporate.

At first, it didn't seem as if Leta would budge. After a very uncomfortable, very heavy silence had ensued, she finally said, "All right. But I'm not admitting to anything."

"I'm not surprised." Celestia couldn't and wouldn't help herself. This girl had almost killed the boy she loved – accidentally, but still. Leta was in no position to be snooty. Briskly, Celestia spun around and marched off toward the Hospital Wing.

* * *

 **4** **She led Leta to Alastair without saying a single word.** Why should she bother with pleasantries? Leta didn't, nor did she seem to give a damn about social protocols and etiquette. Well, this was fine by Celestia. She didn't think that they'd ever be close friends, anyway. It did give her some cause to wonder how Leta could be friends with a thoroughly nice guy like Newt Scamander. Maybe Leta was only nasty toward the Slytherins. Maybe the Slytherins had started it. At this point, it was really impossible to keep track of who had mistreated whom at what point anymore.

Alastair was looking even better than he had when she'd left only a moment ago, but he was still pale, his skin waxy and visibly irritated. When he saw the new arrivals, he gave them his glibbest politician's smile. "Ah, there she is, the wayward daughter of a great family! How are you feeling, Miss Lestrange? Less homicidal than yesterday, I hope." His voice was still raspy, but firmer. That was a good sign.

Leta stopped a few feet away from the bed and crossed her arms again. She jutted her chin out and glared at Alastair. "What do you want?"

"You could at least show some sympathy," Celestia said, her voice a little shaky. "Or if you're incapable of caring about someone you almost got killed, how about gratitude that he didn't actually die? Because that would've been on your hands, you know."

Alastair raised a hand. "It's okay, Tia. I don't mind." He smiled at the clearly cagey Leta again. "To tell you the truth, I didn't see this imaginative act of revenge coming at all. I feel I must congratulate you on your creativity. That was quite something."

"I'm not admitting to anything, Fawley. If you're trying to trick me-"

"No trick," he cut in, the picture of calmness. "Don't admit it. It's better this way."

Leta watched him with unmitigated suspicion. "What do you want?" She enunciated every word slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a person who had trouble hearing, or maybe a child.

"Two things: first, I want to express my satisfaction at discovering that you're not a tepid little doormat who thinks she's better than I am for no good reason at all."

" _I_ think I'm better than _you_?" Leta stared at him, wide-eyed. "You've got your facts all topsy-turvy, it seems."

"Well, you _are_ a bit of a snob," Celestia murmured, again unwilling to keep her annoyance to herself, even though she realised that she wasn't being fair.

"Go jump into a pit, _Celestia_."

Again, Alastair raised a hand. "Please, ladies, let's be civil with each other."

Leta snorted derisively. "It's a little bit late for that, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. You see, when we pulled that little trick on you, we wanted to get you off your high horse. Yesterday, you knocked me off mine. I'd say that makes us even."

Celestia opened her mouth to say that it was not even close, but obviously anticipating this, he cast her a rather significant glance and very subtly shook his head. She pressed her lips together and swallowed the reply down. It tasted bitter.

"You said you wanted two things," Leta said, a little less belligerent.

"Indeed, I did. You see, I recognise some potential in you, and I now realise that my mates and I have not been entirely fair in our treatment of you."

"You think? How magnanimous."

He smirked. It looked a lot more honest than that glib public expression he was so fond of. "I want you to know that all hostilities will cease from our side…under two conditions."

"What conditions?"

"First, that you stop being so horrid toward any of us: me, Celestia, the Malfoy brothers – all the Slytherins, basically. You're one of us, Hogwarts House notwithstanding, and I want you to acknowledge that. If you're willing to be our friend, we'll be yours." He waited, but so did Leta. "Second, we can get you cleared from almost killing me. You don't have to admit to anything, of course, but if Ronny Flint talks, you'll be expelled. But you can keep that from happening."

Leta's frown deepened. Quieter than before, she said, "How?"

"Keep silent. We'll all keep silent."

When Leta raised a hand to scratch her forehead, Celestia saw that she was trembling. "It's not that easy, Fawley. Someone will have to take the fall. The Headmaster won't accept anything less. Your parents won't, either. So what if I don't say anything? They'll find out the truth, anyway."

"Without proof, it won't matter. Ronny will get a month's worth of detention, which I know he'll accept gladly as penance. I'm alive. No bigger harm's been done. If we all keep quiet, nothing bad will happen."

"Why are you being so nice? If this is some sort of trick, I swear to God that I'll-"

" _It's no trick_ , Leta. I messed with you; you messed with me. We're even. The question now is whether we can leave our animosity behind and do the smart thing: team up. If your answer is yes, then great; you're saved. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand.

It clearly cost her a lot of effort, but at length, Leta stepped closer to him, took the offered hand, and shook it once. "Deal."

This was a good thing, wasn't it? At least it was supposed to be. Still, Celestia couldn't quite rid herself of the suspicion that something awful was going to happen. She briefly deliberated objecting, demanding that he tell her everything that he was thinking, but she decided against it. It made her feel a little cowardly, sure, but it was almost possible for her to convince herself that this was all for the best. The silly feud between Alastair, his friends, and Leta was at an end. No-one would get expelled. Everything would be fine. Despite what logic dictated, this sorry affair would, it seemed, pass without causing anyone lasting misery. They'd leave it behind themselves and forget that Alastair had almost been killed. No-one would be the wiser. They'd keep the secret. It was better this way. It was what was best for _everyone_.

Everything would be fine.

Celestia tried unsuccessfully to swallow down the knot that had formed in her throat.

* * *

 **5** **Leta found Newt outside, of course, in the cold, by the lake.** When he heard her calling his name, he briefly considered ignoring her, but of course, his good manners got the better of him. He stopped, turned, and squinted against the cold, pale sunlight as he watched her jog up to him. There was something different about her. She seemed…light-stepped. Unburdened. Relieved. Had she, in the end, decided to heed his advice and come clean to the Headmaster? That would be such great news. Only complete candour could save her Hogwarts career at this point.

The truth always outed, after all – especially when the damaged party was the offspring of one of the most influential wizarding families in Britain.

"Newt." She skidded to a halt right in front of him, her face flushed from the exertion and the cold. The happy expression turned pained. "Are you still mad at me? You had every right to be angry, of course. I wanted to apologise."

Tension melted from his shoulders. "I'm not mad." It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't a lie, either – not really. The truth lay somewhere in between. "It's quite all right."

She beamed at him. It was a carefree, lovely, welcome sight. "That's good to hear. Listen, you don't have to worry about the Fawley incident anymore. It's been resolved."

"So you've come clean?"

She made a face. "Are you insane? Of course not. They'd kick me out for sure. Neither the Headmaster, nor the Fawleys would accept anything less."

He blinked at her in confusion. "Then how can it _possibly_ be resolved?"

Waving off dismissively, she said, "don't worry about that. It's all right. I've taken care of it. You don't have to know the details. Just…don't talk to anyone about what you know, all right? Keep it to yourself, and everything will be _fine_."

"If you say so." He couldn't muster the enthusiasm necessary to feign conviction.

"Trust me," she said, and took his hands into hers. "Everything will be just fine."

Loud and angry voices coming from the direction of the castle distracted them. They let go of each other and turned toward the source. Headmaster Black was there, as well as Professors Dumbledore and Prewett, talking to a man and a woman who were obviously very agitated.

Newt's heart sank. "Could those be Alastair Fawley's parents?"

Leta looked toward the castle, squinting, then nodded. "Yes, that's them. Boy, do they look angry."

"Of course they look angry. Their son almost died. Why do _you_ look so unworried? Those are influential people. They'll want justice for Alastair."

"It's all good, Newt. Calm down. Crikey."

"I'll try," he said, unable to rid himself of a weird sensation of ominous foreboding.

It couldn't be that easy. It just _couldn't_. Something had to give, and it would not be pretty. Actions had consequences. They always did. This was _not_ going to go away, no matter what Leta thought. He just hoped that he was wrong. The last thing he wanted was for Leta to get hurt – for Leta to be expelled for her ill-begotten, nearly fatal prank. In fact, he'd do almost anything to keep that from happening.

Justice or no justice, he was her friend, and loyalty towards one's friends counted so much more than following the rules.


	16. The Road Not Taken

**The Road Not Taken**

 **1925**

 **1** **Sometimes, during idle moments,** Celestia wondered what exactly had been the metaphorical dislodged pebble that had launched the catastrophic avalanche her life had got caught up in – the first in a series of unfortunate events. It was probably a silly and overly simplistic way of thinking, not to mention a moot exercise, but she couldn't help herself. Her thoughts would start to wander, and she'd always end up thinking back on a single horrid incident: the episode that had led to Newt Scamander's expulsion from Hogwarts. In the interim, she got to know him better than she had back then, which made the nagging and ugly sting that was guilt worse over time. Still, even during those days, she'd felt like the scum of the Earth for being complicit in a scheme that had resulted in the punishment of someone innocent.

 _It's not a big deal_ , Alastair had told her over and over again, once events had irreversibly unfolded. _He'll be fine. He's got his work cut out for him with the Hippogriffs at home, anyway, and his weird research. He's got Dumbledore on his side, too. But if Leta had been found out, her life would've been over. You don't want that, do you?_

That was something he excelled at – always had: avalanching Celestia with arguments until she wasn't sure what was right and what was wrong anymore. Were these rationalisations of someone with a heavy conscience, or did he really believe that after everything had been said and done, this was the best solution for everyone?

Not that it mattered. Again, he was close to dying, closer with every passing second.

Back then, she hadn't believed that she'd ever be able to bear being in such a situation again. It was nothing short of amazing how much a person could handle – even a person no-one, including herself, had ever thought of as strong. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe this was just the one thing she couldn't ever give up on if she wanted to stay able to look in a mirror.

Inside the decaying barn in the middle of nowhere, she found the next clue left by the elusive contact: two enchanted galleons that, like the ones they'd found in the forest, showed the way to their next destination.

They were all standing together in the dilapidated, mouldy, damp, decaying, draughty barn: Celestia, Nocturna, the Malfoy brothers, Leta, and Ethel.

"Are you sure that you want to go by yourselves?" Apollo said, sounding genuinely concerned. His white-blond hair was dishevelled, and his usually pallid face was flushed slightly pink. "You don't know for certain who this contact is, or that this isn't a trap."

"It's not a trap," Nocturna said, smiling a little. "At least not involving any Aurors. Anything else, we can handle."

"And we need to stick to the plan in order to get Goldstein," Ethel said, a distinct note of disgust tainting her voice.

"Don't forget that so far, Tia handled it all on her own," Nocturna said.

"Not entirely, no." Celestia looked down at her muddy boots. "For a while, Newt Scamander helped me."

"He probably thought you wanted to save the creature," Leta said quietly.

Celestia shook her head at her. "No. He knew I wanted to save Alastair. What he didn't know, for a long time, was that doing so will presumably kill the monster, and that if the monster dies and the heart is preserved, it can be used as a weapon. If the heart is just reunited with the animal, then the animal gets to live, but the effect on Alastair and his family might not be reversed that way."

"Might." Ares arched his thin eyebrows. "He abandoned you to your own fate on a _might_? Charming fellow."

"He _wouldn't do that_ ," Leta snapped. "He's the most decent chap you'll ever meet."

"A matter up for debate, and a virtue one could argue really is none," Ares said, earning himself a glare from everyone but Ethel, who just snickered.

"We should be on our way," Nocturna hurried to say, before this case of mild bickering could devolve into a full-blown argument. "Tia?"

"Agreed." She looked at each of the others in turn. "Good luck. We'll see each other soon."

She and Nocturna Apparated away.

* * *

 **2** **Priding herself on not being a clueless idiot,** Tina Apparated herself and her sister just outside the place where the locating spell had situated Celestia Prewett's wand. It was a small forest at the edge of a huge, forlorn-looking field that had once been used for growing crops. The weather wasn't all too inviting: strong winds made the nearly bare boughs above sway and creak. Dark, heavy clouds rolled across the sky at an incredible pace. The air smelled like rain. It was icy cold, too: despite her rather heavy coat, Tina was shivering.

Poor Queenie looked as if she might freeze to the spot. She had an eye for fashion and always looked effortlessly beautiful, but she had never been the most practical dresser. There were pros and cons to everything.

Her brow creased, Tina reached out and touched her sister's elbow. "You should head back."

"No." Queenie's pleasant voice sounded firm and determined. "I ain't going nowhere. We're doing this together." Her expression turned reproachful. "You promised."

Suppressing an irritated sigh, Tina said, "Yeah, I promised." She raised her wand and spoke the locating spell again. Immediately, the picture of the old barn appeared. Her eyes darted from the projected picture to the real thing. The latter was standing at the far end of the field, slowly but inexorably falling apart. It looked deceivingly peaceful and quiet. "She's in there." Saying this out loud was a redundancy, but it was Tina's personal philosophy that it was better to say things twice than leave something important unspoken.

"Is she alone?"

"Not likely. Now, they don't know we're coming, but Apparating right over would be stupid. There's a zero percent chance they haven't warded the place against that kind of tactic. We need to approach cautiously and catch them by surprise."

"Won't they just Apparate away again? Or are you any good at casting an Anti-Disapparation jinx?"

"I can do it, but not blindly. I need to get closer to the target. They probably warded against that, anyway."

Queenie gave her a doubtful look. "You still sure this is such a grand idea? I mean, it's only the two of us against who knows how many of them, and you're the only Auror. Maybe we should go back and get some backup?"

"That's never gonna happen. Graves made that quite clear." Squinting against the chilly wind that made her eyes water, Tina looked at the innocent-looking, decaying barn where the Grindelwald fanatics were hiding. Finding Prewett's wand had been the easiest part, true. Truth be told, Tina hadn't planned much beyond this stage. She was usually good at coming up with practical solutions to dire predicamentson the fly. But the enemy was shrewd. The only thing she and Queenie had working to their advantage was the element of surprise.

Queenie was right: once that was gone, they had nothing. There was nothing stopping Prewett, her sister, and whoever else was in there from just leaving. A bunch of Aurors could; a single one could not.

What to do, then? She couldn't exactly leave them alone. Especially now that she'd gone behind Graves's back to get permission to find Prewett, she needed results. There was no going back empty-handed. Otherwise, she might as well kiss her career goodbye. The thought alone made her throat constrict and her pulse pick up the pace. She tasted something sour in her mouth.

No. No panicking now. She was here to do a job, and that was precisely what would happen. She would not crawl back to New York in shame; she _couldn't_. It was more than that, though, of course: these Grindelwald supporters were working toward bringing down everything that was good and just in the wizarding world. They could not be allowed to follow through on whatever scheme they had in mind.

Graves would have to understand, to _see_ that he was in the wrong, that Celestia Prewett could not be trusted.

Tina would make sure that he did. She leaned toward her sister. "I've got an idea."

* * *

 **3** **After shaking off the brief disorientation always brought upon by Apparition,** Celestia and Nocturna found themselves in a dark, stuffy room somewhere. The air was heavy, way too warm, and smelled like the inside of a shoe during summer. It was hard to see anything in there.

"Where the hell are we?" Nocturna said. The room almost swallowed up her voice, muting it somewhat – most peculiar.

"I have no idea." Celestia blinked, waited until her pupils adapted to the semi-darkness. Some light was coming in through a partially boarded window, but it wasn't enough. She raised her – or rather, Apollo's – wand. " _Lumos_." How odd, how _off_ it felt to cast a spell with a wand that had a different master – a wand that had not chosen her.

The small sphere of white light cast a bright radius around the two witches.

They were in…a living room? It was cramped with old-fashioned, ratty, dusty furniture. Along all walls were huge stacks of books accumulating a thick coat of dust. No-one had cleaned up in here for a very, very long time. The place could do with a breath of fresh air, too, to put it euphemistically.

"Why is it so warm?"

"I don't know," Celestia said, and raised her free hand to her mouth to cover up a yawn. The sudden change in temperature was making her drowsy – if that was all this was. Once could never know.

Maybe Apollo had been right to object. Maybe this really was a trap. It didn't feel like one, but that didn't mean anything at all in the grand scheme of things.

Nocturna lit up her own wand and started to warily explore the room. "Can you see a door? Anywhere?"

"No, I can't. It must be behind one of the book stacks. There's an entire library in here." She rubbed at her eyes. "Why are we here? As far as I know, our contact was supposed to be waiting for us wherever the second enchanted galleons sent us."

"He or she will be here. Let's wait a while. If nothing happens, we'll leave."

Celestia cast her an irritated look. "I can't just _leave_. My time's running out. I have to find that ghastly thing and get back to England!"

"All right. Let's have a look around, then, and see what this place has to offer." Nocturna raised her wand. " _Lumos maxima_." A brighter sphere of light shot from her wand, rose to the ceiling, and hovered there, providing more than enough illumination.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," Celestia made herself say, even though it took some effort. It wasn't as if she didn't feel the need to apologise to her ever-helpful, ever-cheery sister. She was just tired of herself at this point and wished she weren't so on edge and insufferable all the time.

Nocturna could, if push came to shove, just leave.

Celestia was stuck with herself.

Standing by a pile of dusty, moth-eaten books, Nocturna waved off. "Oh, it's quite all right. Once this is all over, you'll be able to rest easy again. No-one's blaming you for being a tad on edge until that day comes."

"No-one but our parents, all the Blacks, and all the Malfoys."

"Nonsense."

"It's not, sadly. I wish it were nonsense, but it really isn't." Her legs felt heavy as lead, but the sofas and armchairs were in such a deplorable condition, she decided against dropping herself on one of them. She had to be much wearier in order to stop caring about ticks and mildew and who knew what else. This was something she could claim with some authority, having been in such a situation a number of times before.

Inevitably, the random thought brought Newt to mind, and the guilt at leaving him behind. She dearly hoped that he was all right. What she didn't expect was for him to forgive the betrayal. But then again, they'd probably never see each other again.

He'd never been particularly fond of the likes of her, and for good reason. Having to admit this wasn't pleasant, no – far from it. It had become a necessity, though. One could only pretend to believe a lie of one's own spinning for a limited amount of time.

She lowered her wand-carrying hand and pressed her left against the aching small of her back. Her toes and fingers were all pins and needles from circulation returning to them. "I know that this is nothing more than me feeling sorry for myself, but sometimes, I can't help but wonder."

Nocturna didn't look up. She was squinting down at a particularly thick greenish tome with what might once have been golden lettering embossed on its cover. "Wonder what, love?"

"Whether our parents were right all along. Whether it might not have been better for everyone if I had stayed with Apollo."

Slowly, Nocturna straightened up and turned to face her. "You're the one who told me that you couldn't live like that anymore. Knowing you the way I do, that was no exaggeration. So what if you upset the applecart and wrecked a political marriage? The consequences are a million times preferable to you being dead."

"But would this, all this…would it still have happened? I'm the one who's responsible, Nana. This is _my_ doing. If I hadn't been there, Alastair would still be fine."

"No, he wouldn't. He'd be miserable. Besides, disasters have a way of happening even when you remove one person from the equation. I suppose you didn't go traipsing into that stupid monster's lair by yourself, looking for trouble."

Celestia shook her head. She wasn't going to point any fingers. This was her mistake to fix and nobody else's. "It doesn't matter. Like I said, I know that I'm just looking for an excuse to give into self-pity."

"Happens to everyone."

"That doesn't make it any less annoying." She almost sat down, now; her body felt so, so heavy. Her head had started to ache. There was a knot in her throat. Her eyes were sore. In a quieter tone, she added, "I miss my daughter."

Nocturna gave her a look that was so sympathetic, it was almost enough to break the latter's flimsy control over her emotions. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I." She closed her eyes for her moment. "I can't help but think that if I hadn't done what I did, I'd still be with her."

"You've made a choice: the best choice for you. It's the only way you can be happy. You can't always live according to everyone else's needs."

"It was still a selfish thing to do."

"Maybe. Doesn't make it any less right, even if it was also wrong in a way. Life is so much more complicated than we'd like. People get hurt. It happens. You would've done her no favours if you'd stayed, ultimately."

"I just couldn't imagine how hard to bear the consequences would be. And now, I only have little over a fortnight to save Alastair and his family from certain death. I might lose it all." Celestia drew a sharp, shaky breath and clasped her free hand over her mouth.

Mustn't lose control. Mustn't be weak.

That was when she felt Nocturnas skinny, yet strong arms envelop her, and she couldn't fight it anymore. She burst into tears and all but collapsed against her sister.

For half an eternity, they just stood there holding onto each other, not saying a word. It wasn't necessary.

Finally, though, Celestia calmed down again. She peeled herself out of the embrace, mopping at her eyes and sniffling. Crying was always so horribly undignified and messy.

"Hang on." Nocturna fumbled in her coat pockets and pulled out a clean handkerchief. "Here you go."

"Thank you." Loudly and heartily, Celestia blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face. "I'm mortified to point out that I might've got some snot on you."

Nocturna blinked at her, then laughed. "I'll live – barely, but I will. I'm tough that way. You'd be surprised."

Before Celestia could make any kind of reply, the air at one of the corners of the room distorted; someone was Apparating inside.

Immediately, both women pointed their wands at the intruder. When they saw who it was, they lowered them again simultaneously. It probably looked more than a little bit silly, as if they'd synchronised their moves beforehand.

Celestia stared at the man, who was smiling expectantly at the sisters, wide-eyed. "Ronny Flint." It wasn't even a question.

He raised a hand to awkwardly wave at them. "Hello. Please don't kill me. I'm only here to help."

" _You're_ the contact?" Nocturna said.

"I'm the contact." He shrugged – a jovial, unmistakeable what-can-you-do gesture. It was typical him, in any case. "So, you mind getting out of here so we can fetch the damn thing? Time's short 'n all that."

Again, Celestia and Nocturna shared an incredulous look.

"No, we don't mind," Celestia said. "By all means, lead the way."

"But we do have questions," Nocturna added. "You understand."

"Later." He beamed at them. "Right now, I just want to help save good old Alastair."

On that, they could all agree.

* * *

 **4** **Apollo and the others had debated splitting up and setting a perimeter around the field,** so as to encircle the Auror once she inevitably showed up. They ended up deciding against that; splitting up might seem like a splendid idea in theory, but it would make them vulnerable in practice. No, it was better to stay put and just prep the place a little. The element of surprise was, in the end, on their side; after all, Goldstein didn't know that she was traipsing right into a trap. She'd be coming alone, too, most likely. Her boss certainly wouldn't allow anyone to go with her. The only person likely to be joining her was her sister, who none of them considered to be much of a threat.

They didn't even have to wait long. Only a few minutes after the Prewett sisters left, the low-volume Intruder Charm sounded off.

"There she is – predictable as always," Ethel said, wearing an expression on her face that was probably supposed to be a smile, but came across like a snarl instead.

"You don't think she'll be stupid enough to attack us head-on, do you?" Leta said, brushing a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear, just so she'd had something to fidget with. She wasn't exactly battle-hardened like the others – especially Ethel.

That woman was tough as nails.

Ethel shook her head. "The way I know her, she'll try to trick us into showing our hand. She may be a pest, but she ain't a moron."

It was a bit of a marvel how inventive humans were when it came to coming up with new insults. Up until recently, 'moron' had still been a medical term – one Leta didn't feel all that comfortable with, if she were to be honest with herself. But why protest? No-one would agree with her, and she didn't want to make herself unpopular with the others. That never ended well. "So, what now?"

"We keep calm and stick to the plan. She'll try to lure us out, but if we manage not to get side-tracked, then we got her."

Ares opened his mouth to say something, because God forbid he let any exchange pass without commenting on it, but didn't actually get to say anything.

All around them, a sonorous, feminine voice boomed: " _Attention, Grindelwald supporters! You are surrounded on all sides! The site has been subjected to an Anti-Disapparation jinx! If you give yourselves up now, you can expect leniency! Otherwise, we won't hesitate to use force in order to stop you! You only get one warning!_ "

Everyone stared at each other.

"That's not her," Apollo said. "That's the president."

"No, that's Goldstein _pretending_ to be the president," Ethel retorted, sneering, and waved off. "Oldest trick in the book, buddy. You got to polish up on your rules of engagement."

"You don't know that," Leta said. Her stomach was cramping a little. She wasn't sure she was cut out for this kind of work. Was there a way out of this? The important thing was to stay calm and focus.

"It's the likeliest conclusion," Ares said. He was always on that woman's side. What were they to each other, anyway? It wasn't as if his family would ever permit him to leave his Pureblood, English wife and elope with an American nobody.

"Stay calm, everybody," Ethel said, after giving Ares an approving nod. "We-"

A loud crash rocked the thin walls of the dilapidated barn. Everyone winced, cowered down. Splinters and age-old hay rained down on them.

" _This was a warning shot! Come out now and face justice!"_

Ares sneered. "A tad melodramatic, aren't we? Can't she tell the place is warded?"

His brother frowned. There were beads of sweat on his nose and forehead, despite the cold. "Are you sure this is just a bluff?"

"Whatever it is, we need to put a stop to it, and soon, before the MACUSA has no choice but to rain hell down on us," Ethel said, visibly annoyed. "And I'm not leaving this place until Goldstein's _bit the goddamn dust!_ "

Leta pressed her lips together and balled her free hand into a fist. Whatever happened, she wouldn't betray her friends, but she wasn't going to stick around only because some random madwoman held a personal vendetta against an American Auror. No, Leta was going to look out for herself. During her Hogwarts career, she'd learned that that was what she was really good at – better than anyone else, perhaps.

Thoughts of Newt were crushed in their inception. There was no time to feel bad about him right now, about what her actions had done to him. There was no time to miss what they'd once had, either. There was no time to miss him.

But sometimes, she did it anyway, and wondered what might have happened if she hadn't done what she'd done.


	17. Other Worlds

**Other Worlds**

 **1914**

 **1** **When Professor Prewett walked up to Newt in the Hufflepuff Common Room,** the latter already knew that something horrible was about to take place. It wasn't just logical to assume this, despite Leta's assurances that everything was going to be just fine (it couldn't). The professor's angular face was paler than usual. His brow was creased. He looked tense.

"Mister Scamander? Do you have a moment?"

Newt, who'd been sitting on one of the armchairs, reading a relatively new book about research on proper Hippogriff care, shot to his feet at once. "Of course." The reply was weak, almost inaudible. Small wonder, really: his heart was about to jump out of his throat, and his stomach was sloshing with acid. This was bad. One didn't need augury powers in order to be able to tell.

Professor Prewett fussed with one of the golden buttons of his dark-green waistcoat and cleared his throat. He looked down at his leather shoes, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then blew out a heavy breath. A few very awkward seconds of silence passed. Finally, he locked eyes with Newt again. "It's about what happened to Alastair Fawley. His parents are here. The Headmaster, he, uh…" He inhaled deeply. "He needs to ask you a few questions. I'd advise you to tell the truth."

People were pretending to not be staring at them, although they obviously were.

Where was Leta? She'd told Newt earlier that she needed to fetch a few books from the Library, but that had been over half an hour ago. His innards knotted even worse. She'd been caught, hadn't she? Leta had been caught, and now, she was most likely going to be expelled.

"Professor, I can't incriminate anyone else," he said quietly.

Prewett's frown deepened. "You mean Petronius Flint? He already confessed his guilt and got a month's worth of detention."

This…this was a tad confusing. "Then why…"

Had Leta not been caught at all? Maybe they were only _suspecting_ her. Was this all about that, then? The only logical explanation was that someone else had told on her and that they needed Newt to corroborate the story. He'd never do that to her, though. She'd done something stupid, yes, but she certainly did not deserve expulsion.

"Just come with me, please," Prewett said. "And please, be honest. Lies or silence will only make everything worse."

Newt said nothing. He followed the professor out of the basement, past the kitchen, upstairs, and to the Headmaster's office.

All the while, they remained silent.

It was hard for Newt to say whether he was getting more anxious or less during those minutes. On one hand, his stomach was cramping, he was cold, and his mouth was dry. On the other hand, he also felt a bit disconnected from himself – as if none of this were actually happening. He hadn't done anything too bad…well, except for taking Leta into the Forbidden Forest, where she got the bundimun in the first place. He'd been told not to go there anymore, and now, he had.

But Leta hadn't talked. Nobody knew that they'd gone into the forest.

Everyone knew, however, that Newt had a penchant for breaking rules when those rules kept him away from nature. Who else would've given Leta access to the bundimun? Of _course_ he'd be implicated. Of course he'd be questioned, especially if Leta refused to talk. Of course. He'd broken the rules, too, after being repeatedly told to stay away from the Forbidden Forest. Not only that: he'd taken another student with him, and that student had almost poisoned someone as a result.

In a sense, what had happened was partly his fault, too.

They'd probably put pressure on him to tell on Leta by threatening to punish him for his infractions if he didn't.

As he climbed the stone steps to the Headmaster's office, his stomach lurched worse than ever. Acid shot up his gullet. However this whole episode went, it was not going to be 'just fine'. There would be consequences. There were always consequences.

* * *

 **2** **There was always something to worry about, wasn't there?** There were her scores, the family, the friends. There was reconciling everyone's opinions on magic superiority or lack thereof with her own feelings about the subject. Today, however, Celestia could worry about nothing but the whole Leta Lestrange affair. How could Alastair ever think that his little let's-just-all-keep-quiet nonsense could work? It couldn't. No-one was going to go for it, least of all his parents – his parents, who were on their way to Hogwarts, would not accept this. They would never just shrug, accept the almost-death of their son as having been a dumb accident, and then go back home. Someone would have to take the fall. Celestia knew them well enough to be able to predict this with absolute certainty.

Alastair, however, didn't want to hear any of it.

When Mister and Misses Fawley showed up, very upset and understandably enraged, Celestia excused herself. She needed to walk a few steps, breathe fresh air, clear her head. The horrible anxiety of the hours she'd spent waiting for Alastair to be out of the woods was gone. Now, she felt heavy, drained, hollow, as if she hadn't slept for a century. Without even thinking of going back to the Dungeons to grab her overcoat, she half-walked, half-lurched outside. The air was dry and so cold that it punched the breath right out of her. Immediately, her whole body tensed up. Her eyes watered, her nostrils burned, her hands hurt. But the sharp, crystal freshness breathed some life back into her. She stood in the entrance courtyard, looked out at the cobbled square, the stone archways, the benches, the snow and beyond, toward the frozen lake that glittered in the pale sunshine. It was beautiful, no doubts there – beautiful and venerable.

Back in her childhood days, when she and Mother and Nana had visited their father during term, she'd always fantasised about her own future Hogwarts adventures. She'd been impatient and had counted the days until her letter finally arrived. When it did, it was one of the happiest days of her life. Even now, she remembered that moment with fondness and warmth.

She would never have believed that one day, she'd be involved in something so ugly. For the first time in her life, she could understand those who complained about the endless political machinations of the old Pureblood families. If even they, as Hogwarts students, couldn't keep themselves from getting sucked into this maelstrom of lies and schemes and corruption, what hope did the future hold for ever improving? None, that was what. It was a tad depressing, to say the least. The worst part of it was, Celestia didn't have it in herself to break free of it – for what, anyway? What good would alienating her family and friends do? They all believed that they were doing the right thing. Who was she to preach and judge?

These, of course, were nothing but rationalisations. She knew that. Nobody wanted to look inside themselves and find spinelessness.

When she heard the sound of steps approaching, bouncing off the stone structures and echoing through the courtyard, she didn't turn around.

"There's no need to worry," a voice said to her left. It was Apollo.

"Then why am I?" she retorted, not looking at him. "Worrying?"

"Because that's what you always do. You never seem quite able to turn off your brain."

She tried to detect condescension or disdain or any number of unpleasant things in his voice, but found none. Her arms, only covered by the relatively thin fabric of her uniform jacket, broke out in gooseflesh. She hugged them closely to her chest. "Alley said that no-one will be punished for what happened to him, but that's a lie. He just wants to calm me down." She looked down at her shoes for a few seconds. "I hate that, but I'm too much of a coward to do anything about it. I don't want to argue with him…or any of you, for that matter."

"That's not cowardice; it's loyalty." He draped something around her shoulders: her coat. That was strangely touching, wasn't it? He'd gone back to the Dungeons to get her coat. Well, even Apollo had his chivalrous moments. One had to grant him that.

"Loyalty?" She shrugged into the coat and buttoned it shut. "So you agree that someone is being set up to fall."

"You're right: it's the logical conclusion. Nobody has to get punished badly, mind you. Ronny got detention. He, Alastair, and Lestrange will keep quiet about the rest. The matter could just go away. None of us will snitch."

Slowed down by the cold, she turned to face him. "But it won't go away. Something like this never just goes away. Alley's parents won't go quietly. Headmaster Black won't just let it slide, either – nor will the Board of Governors. He needs to make an example of someone. Otherwise, the pressure from the Pureblood families will become too great; the Fawleys have a lot of influence." She shrugged. "If we don't tell the truth, it'll be our fault when someone does take a fall. We might as well lie about it. It'd be the same thing."

A tiny frown creased his forehead. A strand of his almost white hair slid down over his right eye. He brushed it away with a black-leather-gloved hand. "No, it wouldn't."

Despite the refreshing cold, she felt heavier and wearier than ever. "Apollo, we both know who'll get blamed for this sorry debacle. He doesn't have any influential relatives to get him out of this pickle once he gets implicated." She chewed on the inside of her lower lip. "He'll get thrown out of Hogwarts."

And there it was: disdain contorted his otherwise pleasant features. "All Scamander needs to do is tell the truth."

She made a face. "As if he'd ever do that. He's a better person than any of us."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and sighed with exasperation before reaching out and grabbing her by her bony shoulders. "You're not to lose your nerve."

Glowering up at him, she said, "In true Malfoy fashion, you just have to resort to intimidation and force when you don't get your way by being polite. Do not threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you," he said, and smiled a little. As the idiom went, it didn't even remotely reach his eyes. "I'm only appealing to your common sense. Don't let foolish sentimentality get in the way. You'll only make things harder for yourself in the future."

What an odd thing to say. All of a sudden, the cold didn't feel refreshing anymore, but paralysing. She was chilled to the bone despite her thick coat. Her mouth felt dry and cottony. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Her voice came out quiet and somewhat subdued. This was another thing that she hated: her fearfulness.

The smile grew a bit. "It's supposed to mean that we're all just part of the bigger picture, Celestia. Our actions must always serve the greater good: the prosperity of our families. Our families expect us to do our duty without complaint. If you cannot keep quiet for the sake of family and duty, then how do you expect to make greater personal sacrifices in the future that will doubtlessly be required of you?"

Her stomach panged. This didn't bode well at all. "You clearly know something I don't."

"One day, you will know it, too. Until then, take heed of my words." He then proceeded to do a very strange thing: he leaned in and placed a kiss on her cheek. "And do hold your tongue on this matter. It will not do for you to unravel our plans just because you feel sorry for a nobody like Scamander." Without waiting for a reply, he let go of her and marched back inside the castle.

For half an eternity, she just stood there, flabbergasted, staring after him in silence.

* * *

 **3** **"Mister Scamander, please have a seat," Headmaster Black told Newt,** and motioned to a chair by the desk. He was sitting at the other side, Professor Dumbledore to his left.

Both Newt and Professor Prewett sat down side by side.

The fact that Dumbledore, champion of the underdog, was present and looking rather unhappy was not a good sign.

"Mister Scamander, you probably know why we called you here today," Professor Black said gravely. He seemed even less good-natured than usual, which was saying something.

Newt swallowed dryly. "It's about what happened to Alastair Fawley." He shifted his weight and started drumming on the arms of his chair with his cold, clammy fingers.

Professor Black's scowl deepened. "Would you care to make a confession? This is your last chance."

Acid sloshed in Newt's stomach. What was he supposed to do? Rat Leta out? He couldn't do that. She'd get thrown out of Hogwarts. He couldn't be responsible for putting her through that kind of hell. Of course, one could argue that she'd be reaping what she sowed, but he didn't think he could bear causing her any kind of pain. He looked from Black to Dumbledore and back again. "I had nothing to do with what happened to Alastair, but I'm very sorry he got hurt."

Black beheld him coldly. "Hurt? Scamander, he almost perished. Have you so little gallantry in you that you cannot even admit to your guilt? Your classmate narrowly escaped death!"

"My guilt?" Newt shook his head. His eyes darted from the Headmaster to Dumbledore, then to Professor Prewett. "But I didn't do anything. I wasn't a part of this."

"No-one is claiming that you had any ill intent, my boy," Dumbledore said, clearly trying to be a calming influence on everyone present.

"Don't presume to speak for all of us, Albus," Black countered. He narrowed his eyes at Newt again. "So you deny going into the Forbidden Forest and handling those disgusting pests?"

That was when the truth dawned on Newt: they all believed _he_ had tricked Petronius Flint into poisoning Alastair. Well, of course they did: he was the one with the track record, wasn't he? Out of all students, he was the one who ventured deepest into the Forbidden Forest, who didn't listen to admonitions, who didn't care that everyone thought him odd for his love of all fantastic beasts. Everyone also knew that he and Leta were close, and that she _hated_ Alastair Fawley. Everyone knew about what had happened during the Yule Ball. Little later, Alastair almost got killed by a strange little creature found in the forest, and Newt claimed innocence? Even he wouldn't believe it if he didn't know better.

Then, there was Leta's refusal to take responsibility. There was whatever strange deal she'd made with Alastair, too. Could…could she…

No, the thought was too horrifying to contemplate. She couldn't have. She _wouldn't_. Never, not in a million years would she set him up to take the fall in her stead – never. No.

Or would she?

He got a little queasy and cold as ice. Briefly, he wondered whether being frozen by the _Hibernus Horridus_ would feel much frostier than he was feeling now. No, Leta would never set him up on purpose. The question was: would she keep quiet once she found out that he'd been implicated in her place?

Of that, he wasn't even half as sure.

"Well?" Black demanded. "Do you deny it?"

"Newt, think about your next words very carefully," Prewett said, sounding honestly concerned. "Only the truth will help you now."

"The most important thing," Dumbledore said, briefly raising his hands in a placatory gesture, "the thing we must all keep in mind is that Mister Fawley's sickness was a highly unlikely accident, and that he will make a full recovery."

Somehow, none of this felt real. It was as if Newt were caught in some kind of bizarre, ridiculous nightmare. He unsuccessfully tried swallowing down the knot in his throat. "I didn't have anything to do with that."

Prewett placed his left hand on Newt's right shoulder. "We realise that you didn't mean to hurt your classmate, Newt – really, we do. But you need to be a little more forthcoming, too. Who else would've removed that disgusting thing from the forest?"

Newt's face got hot. He bristled. "It's not a _thing_. It's a creature that has as much right to live as we do. All I did was try to move them deeper into the forest, so that the groundskeeper wouldn't kill them. I would never endanger one of them by bringing them into the castle, where they'd be found for sure."

"So you admit that you went into the Forbidden Forest despite being warned not to, after being _punished_ for doing so multiple times," Black said coolly. "You even admit to moving the pests, yet you will not take responsibility for what happened to Mister Fawley?"

He thought of Leta's panic and of how she'd told him about making a deal with Alastair. Maybe she really hadn't known that he'd be blamed, instead. In the end, it didn't matter much. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and collected himself. "I understand I played a part in what happened, but I would never, _never_ endanger either an innocent creature or a classmate. I didn't ask Petronius Flint to place the bundimun next to Alastair's bed."

"Then who did?" Black said.

Newt said nothing. He couldn't. If he did, Leta's fate would be sealed. He couldn't do that to her, no matter what her silence might do to him.

Black sneered at him. "That's what I thought. It would seem that your classmates, Mister Fawley and Mister Flint, have a great deal more moral fibre than you do."

"Headmaster, please don't jump to such harsh and unwarranted conclusions," Prewett said, sounding rather upset. "Mister Scamander is a good student with a very good and honest character, his idiosyncrasies notwithstanding."

"No-one should be judged just because his or her hobbies don't correspond to those of the minority," Dumbledore said.

"Well, someone has to be punished," Black said. "The Board of Governors is already breathing down my neck. The Fawleys were _very_ clear, too. I have to act. You both know that we have no other suspects."

Dumbledore squinted at Black over the rim of his glasses. "Don't we? Maybe someone should talk to Mister Flint again." He turned to Prewett. "Or your daughter, Morgan."

"My daughter has nothing to do with this sorry business," Prewett retorted, piqued. "She would never do anything to harm Alastair, and you know it. Besides, my Celestia is not one to play pranks – my eldest is, but not little Tia."

"It just seems to me that Mister Fawley's Slytherin classmates know more than they're letting on."

It was Black's turn to bristle. "Don't blame _my_ students for being discreet. You've always had prejudices against Slytherin House, but this is ridiculous! Apart from Petronius, none of them is at fault, and Petronius confessed at _once_. He immediately showed willingness to accept punishment for his part in this sorry interlude, even though no foul play was intended from his part." He glared at Newt. "If you won't come clean, then I'll have no choice but to throw you out of Hogwarts."

Was any of this really happening? Was he really here, on the verge of expulsion? A small part of him still hoped Leta would burst into the room and clear up the mess she'd made, but he knew that that would never happen. He was on his own to reap the consequences of his carelessness and his trust in her. He felt ill. "I can't say more than I already have."

"Then you leave me no choice."

"Phineas…"

"No, Albus! The line must be drawn somewhere, and this is it! The boy has brought this on himself."

"Please reconsider," Prewett said, not sounding all too hopeful. "Mister Scamander is such a bright, gentle, good-hearted young man. He-"

" _No_ ," Black repeated with emphasis. He gave Newt a cold look. "Mister Scamander, I regret to inform you that from this moment forward, you are expelled from this school. An owl will be sent to your parents at once. You can take the train tomorrow morning back to London."

* * *

 **4** **Newt went back toward the basement in something of a trance.** Before he left the Headmaster's office, Professor Prewett clapped him on the shoulder and Professor Dumbledore started to protest, but Newt knew that the decision was final. The Hogwarts Board of Governors was filled with friends and allies of the Fawleys. Those who were not their friends would doubtlessly be bullied into caving into their demands, as it already had so often been the case. Their son had almost died. Heads needed to roll – well, one head, at least. The other parents would be shocked enough to support this, no doubt. After all, the official story was that loony Newt Scamander had brought a dangerous pest into the castle and almost murdered one of his classmates in the process. Ill intend didn't even matter in this context. It had happened. Newt had got blamed. Now, he had to pay the price.

Hardly conscious of his movements, he went down the stairs to the basement, past the kitchen, and to the door that led to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Someone was waiting there for him, but not the person he'd expected – well, hoped to find.

It was Celestia Prewett. She looked pale, slightly dishevelled, and uncharacteristically distraught. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose reddish. When she spotted him, she stopped pacing, uncrossed her arms, and faced him.

For a few seconds, they just stood there, scrutinising each other. It was awkward, to say the least.

At length, she pressed her trembling fist to her lips, discreetly cleared her throat, and said, "Did you talk to Professor Black?"

"Yes. He decided to expel me." His voice was calm and monotonous. It was as if he were beside himself, watching himself speak.

Her eyes went wide. " _What?_ "

"I'm to pack my things and leave tomorrow morning." He motioned at the door. "Please let me pass."

"I…God, I am _so_ sorry."

"Sorry enough to do something about it?"

She recoiled and looked at him as if he'd slapped her. "Your… _friend_ almost killed my Alastair. I didn't do anything."

"And then, my friend and yours conspired to get me tossed out of Hogwarts." It started to sink in, finally. The cold drained from his body. His face felt hot. His hands were shaking. He tasted bile. For the first time in his life, he felt like just storming away and wishing everything and everyone to hell – everyone except the magical creatures he loved surrounding himself with. Those didn't conspire and manipulate and backstab. "You know the truth, Celestia. Would you tell it to your father? Would you tell it to your uncle or great cousin or whatever Headmaster Black is to you? Would you?"

She bit her lower lip and looked up at the ceiling. "I _can't_."

"Can't or won't?"

"I wish I could – really, I do."

"You keep telling yourself that." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his messy, ruddy hair. "Do you want forgiveness ? Do you want me to absolve you because of your good intentions? I could, but I won't. You're all the same." He snorted wryly. "At least Leta finally got her wish. It's what she always wanted, isn't it? To be one of you. Today's the day. Me getting thrown out and the bundimun population in the Forbidden Forest dying is just collateral damage to you lot. _Now_ can I get into my Common Room? You're not invited."

"You have every reason to hate the lot of us," she said quietly. Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I'm sorry." She hurried away, her steps echoing in the stone corridor.

He didn't find it in himself to regret having brought her to tears. In all probability, he would, given enough time, since it wasn't in his nature to hold grudges. Also, as part of his brain reminded him, peer pressure among Slytherins was considerable. That wasn't an excuse, though, and for the moment, he reserved the right to wish all of them to jump into a bottomless pit.

His things were packed quickly. The dormitory and the Common Room were pretty much empty. It would take a while until the news spread. The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone about this. Good God. What would his parents say? What would he _do_ now? What future did a wizard without a school diploma even have in this world? He dropped himself on one of the sofas and buried his burning hot face in his icy hands. His head pounded. There was a sour taste in his mouth. His stomach was roiling. What was he supposed to do? His thoughts raced, but were muddled, angry, and confused.

"Newt?"

The sound of that voice sent a hot poker through his innards. Slowly, he raised his head.

Leta was standing right in front of him, looking cautiously optimistic. What a joke this was.

He'd been so absorbed in his misery that he hadn't even heard her come inside.

There were just the two of them in there now.

"I know now what your deal with Alastair was," he said quietly, his voice raspy. "It worked, you'll be glad to know. I was expelled. You're safe."

She stared at him, visibly flummoxed. "They think it was you."

He nodded. "What did you expect? What did you think was going to happen, here? Hm? You didn't tell the truth, and neither did your new best mates over at Slytherin House. Someone had to be blamed."

"So…you didn't tell them that it was me."

"Are you _serious?_ " He watched her incredulously, wide-eyed. "I just told you that I got tossed out, and all you care about is whether I told on you or not? How selfish _are_ you?"

"Newt…"

"Do you even regret what you've done? Any of it? Lying to me? Manipulating me? Almost murdering Alastair? Getting the bundimun colony exterminated? Getting me thrown out of Hogwarts? _Any of it?_ " When she didn't say anything, he scoffed and waved off. "I should've known. I shouldn't have trusted you. All you do is take."

"That's not true. I need to look out for myself, you know. Maybe you should start doing the same."

The cheek of it! It was infuriating, yes, but mostly, it was depressing. "Are you even listening to yourself? Do _not_ turn this around on me."

She gave him that narrow-eyed, obstinate look she always reserved for the Slytherins – well, up until now. "I'm not doing anything of the sort. It's not my fault that you're unable to defend yourself. I couldn't have foreseen that you'd get blamed!"

"Couldn't you? Really?" All of this was just too much. He took a deep breath, pushed himself to his feet, and started heading toward his dormitory. At least she couldn't follow him there. "Tell yourself whatever you need to in order to make yourself feel better. That doesn't make it the truth. You wanted to be accepted by your Pureblood peers? You wanted them to respect you? Well, congratulations. You got your wish." Not waiting for a reply, because even the sound of her voice was making him sick at this point, he marched away and left her standing there.


	18. Choices

**A/N:** **This chapter contains a paraphrased quote out of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.**

* * *

 **Choices**

 **1925**

 **1** **Finding out that Petronius Flint was the mysterious contact** that would lead Celestia and Nocturna to Alastair Fawley's salvation was almost too ludicrous to be realistic. Then again, at least he did have a really good reason for wanting to help Alastair, after what had happened during that fateful winter at Hogwarts. As convenient as this turn of events might seem to Celestia, she knew that coincidences existed. Coincidences happened all the time. It wasn't the universe's fault that she'd, over the years, grown mistrustful of coincidences. All that aside, though, it was important to not be stupid about any of this. The Fawleys only had two more weeks left; any potential margin for error had come and gone a long, wretched time ago.

"Don't be offended, Ronny, but…how are you here? Why you?" she said, scrutinising him with unmasked wariness.

Like all of them, Petronius had aged a little since they'd all graduated, but in essence, he looked the same: tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, tanned, wearing his brown hair cropped short.

Celestia almost expected him to be wearing the Slytherin House Quidditch uniform underneath his long coat.

He didn't look at all offended, albeit a little resigned to a fate he'd obviously expected. "Yeah, I figured you girls wouldn't just blindly follow me without at least some explanation."

"So?" Nocturna said, making an impatient little twirling gesture with her wand. "Time's money. Spit it out."

"I did always like you better," he said, looking at Celestia, before he sighed theatrically and scratched his neck. "Look, it's no secret – what happened to Alastair and all. You travelling the Earth looking for a cure isn't, either. I heard you were milling about with that Scamander fellow. So I knew: has to be a magic beast. I went to talk to his parents, who told me what happened to Alastair and-"

"The Scamanders volunteered information to _you_ about something their son would never, because it might endanger an already endangered animal?" Nocturna cut in, deadpan. "Cute. Please try again."

This time, he did glance at her, but again, it was Celestia he spoke to. "All right, fine. I knew the Fawleys were frozen up and that a magic creature'd done it. So I went to the Scamanders, like I said" – He briefly scowled at Nocturna – "but they wouldn't talk much. But I remembered him carrying about an old book with an ugly ice monster drawn on the cover." His expression grew pained. "So I stunned the old folks and rummaged through their things. Turned out the book wasn't there, but letters Newt'd sent his parents, talking about where he was and who with and all." He ventured a little smile. "I knew I had to do _something_ to help."

Before Celestia could even open her mouth to reply, Nocturna said, "And you just happened to find what Tia's been searching for all these months?" She'd always had this unfortunate habit of turning into Supreme Madam Inquisitor whenever she believed someone was attacking her little sister.

As heart-warming as the sentiment was, Celestia had to do something to keep the situation from derailing. She had no time for any of this. She hurried to say, "Please, Nana, stop interrogating him like this! Ronny's a good friend, and I believe him."

"Thank you," Petronius said, sounding both vindicated and peeved.

Celestia didn't blame him. She didn't blame Nocturna, either. After suppressing yet another yawn and wiping some sweat off her grimy forehead, she said, "Don't forget that he's only found it now, too. There is no-"

"All of this seems way to convenient to me. I don't trust it," Nocturna said, unmoved. That was another unfortunate habit of hers: interrupting people – that and being stubborn. Two talents for the price of one, really.

Well, truth be told, Celestia was pretty good at digging in her heels like the most pig-headed mule on the planet, too. Sometimes, she was just as perceptive as one. One had to know one's shortcomings and all that. With all strength of will she still possessed, she refrained from rolling her eyes.

Nocturna did not deserve condescension just because she was cautious.

"Nana, I realise that experience has taught you otherwise, but not everyone who isn't in your inner circle is out to get you…or me. Sometimes, people are just good. Sometimes, a leap of faith is required." She thought of Newt, who'd helped her despite her ugly stunt at Hogwarts, despite her cowardice and selfishness, despite her callous disregard for the beast that he was so invested in saving.

Self-reflection never was much fun, was it?

For a few tense seconds, Nocturna just kept glaring at Petronius, who was doing his best to ignore this. Then, she relaxed visibly and shrugged. "Okay. This is your party."

Celestia watched her warily. "It is?"

Nocturna's haggard features softened as she smiled at her sister. "Of course it is. I promised to help you save Alastair and his family and so I will. You chose to trust my friends; I'm choosing to trust yours." She turned to Petronius again – less hostile, but not exactly friendly, either. "You understand that I shall keep a healthy amount of scepticism alive until you deliver on your end."

"Fair's fair," he said, offering her his own shrug. "I suppose you want me to tell you what's gonna happen next?"

Despite her weariness, her headache, and her general foul mood, Celestia made herself smile at him. Manners mattered. Even if she herself didn't always agree, she could hardly deny her background and education. "Thank you, Ronny; that would be lovely."

* * *

 **2** **The situation was getting out of hand. From outside the dilapidated barn,** the president's voice kept booming warnings at the Grindelwald supporters. The Aurors she'd obviously brought with her were bombarding the barn, making splinters and ancient hay rain down on their heads. Leta could see that the Malfoy brothers were concerned and doubtful just like she was. The only one seemingly convinced that this ruckus was being made by the Goldstein woman was Ethel, but Ethel didn't exactly had a great track record where sanity was concerned.

The last thing that Leta wanted was to be blasted to pieces by a bunch of Aurors. The second-to-last thing was imprisonment. If Aurors caught them, then they'd be tried and thrown in the deepest dungeon available. It probably wouldn't be as awful as Azkaban, but a prison was a prison was a prison. All her life, Leta had found a way to do what was good for her, not giving into peer pressure (even if Newt didn't see it this way). This endeavour here was doomed. There was no way that all this noise and bombardment was being caused by one single Auror without backup – and weren't the little people always sticklers for rules and regulations? A good little government employee such as Goldstein wouldn't disobey orders given to her by her boss. That meant that this had to be the actual Seraphina Picquery out there. So why be stupid about this? Maybe, if Leta could just quietly sneak away, she could find the Prewett sisters and regroup with them. Wouldn't that make much more sense than staying here, waiting to be either arrested or killed?

There was another boom.

She flinched heavily. As often was the case, she thought of Newt when she was about to do something the group hadn't approved of. The last time they'd spoken, he'd all but called her a coward. Not that she agreed with him, but the words had stung all the same and had a way of creeping back into her mind at the worst moments.

"We need to do something other than standing around like idiots," Apollo said, calmly snooty in defiance of the situation. He wiped splinters of his robes with well-practiced disgust. No-one knew whether this kind of attitude was inherited or drilled into.

Leta tended towards the former. "At least one of us should go find the Prewetts…you know, for backup."

Apollo didn't seem too disinclined to consider this, but both Ethel and Ares gave her such a look of disgust, she recoiled against a decrepit ball of hay and nearly tripped over her feet.

"Crawl back to England if you must," Ethel said, her voice as cold as her expression, "but I'm not falling for one of Goldstein's stupid tricks."

"I'm only half English," Leta said feebly, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot. The commotion around her was distracting. "Oh, and bite me."

"Clever comeback," Ares said, sneering. He was even ashier than usual, though, and beads of sweat were blooming on his forehead and nose.

"She's got a point," Apollo said. "If this _isn't_ Goldstein-"

"It _is_ ," Ethel cut in, looking as if she were about to rip all their heads off with her bare hands, "and I'll prove it to you."

" _This is your last warning! If you don't surrender yourselves in the next two minutes, you will be executed! Come out with your wands pocketed!_ "

"I can't think straight with all this _noise!_ " Ares pressed the heels of his leather-gloved hands to his damp temples.

"Compose yourself, brother. You're making a scene." Apollo had never much cared for histrionics. That was when the bombardment stopped. "See? Now, we all have two minutes to think." He briefly fished his pocket watch out of his waistcoat. "I suggest we assume that we really are being fired at by a group of Aurors led by Picquery herself, and plan accordingly."

Ethel glowered at him. "She has to be in our line of sight to consistently hit the barn like that, and we can definitely tell where the hits are coming from. If there were several Aurors, they'd be shooting at us from all sides, not just two."

"There's a joke about hitting the broad side of a barn hiding in there, somewhere," Leta said in a quiet tone. Her ears were ringing, her head hurt, and she was chilled to the core. She couldn't even feel her toes inside her slender boots anymore. There was something to be said about practical footwear, wasn't there? "Shouldn't we try to Apparate?"

Ares said, "Think, Lestrange. If they can't Apparate in, then we can't Apparate out. Simple logic is the best."

Leta shot him a black look. Despite feeling cold, her face got hot. "Screw you, Malfoy."

"Now, now. None of that," Apollo said, and clapped a hand on Leta's shoulder. "We need to keep calm."

"We split up into pairs and burst through the walls where the hexes are coming from, stun Goldstein and her insipid sister, before we kill them and move on," Ethel said, as if she were suggesting a stroll in the park. "It's the best bet we've got."

"Kill them or go down in flames?" Ares arched his thin, nearly white eyebrows. "If that's our only option, then I approve."

"That's not our only option." Leta looked at each one in turn. "We could also stage an attack and let one of us get reinforcements."

"You, I suppose?" Ares said coldly.

"Or we could surrender, but none of us wants that." Apollo checked his watch again. "Time's up. We need to decide now."

Ethel offered him an off-putting, crooked little smirk of doom. "I got an idea, but you ain't gonna like it."

* * *

 **3** **Splitting up was a gamble, but Tina had to think strategically –** like an Auror. Since Queenie was already there, it made sense to accept her offer to do something useful. Wanting to catch a bunch of criminals with only one person as backup was ludicrous enough; attempting it by herself would be suicide. These Grindelwals acolytes did not mess around.

Both women were partially concealed by the treeline of the small forest, but they needed a line of sight to their target.

Tina wondered whether the people inside that decrepit barn thing (was that what it was called?) had bought the lie and decided that it was safer to assume they hadn't. Celestia Prewett wasn't on file as being violent, but her sister was. She'd probably want to come out fighting. It also was a disadvantage, not knowing exactly how many people were in there – how many enemies.

That was what happened when a person had to act quickly and without organised support: slapdash plans were pulled out of thin air. But she didn't have a choice. Graves wouldn't act, and Prewett was en route to acquiring a devastatingly dangerous weapon of mass destruction. There was no time to deliberate and debate and let water pass under the bridge.

Oh, but it was _miserably_ cold, wasn't it? Her nose, her lips, her fingers, ears, and feet were numb. The drizzle had become bona fide rain. Farther away, thunder was rumbling. With a flick of her wand, she signalled her sister that the two minutes were up. It was time to-

A deafening roar blotted everything out. Horrible white light blinded her. A crushing heatwave made her stumble backwards. She crashed against a tree, nearly fell. Bright spots danced before her eyes. She gasped for breath. The air was heavy, acrid, oily, unpleasant. Smoke! What?

Blinking tears away, Tina saw that the barn was burning.

* * *

 **4** **Stupid, stupid, stupid plan! Insane. Suicidal!** What kind of crazy person would light themselves on fire? What-

No time to object. It happened before Leta could do anything: incantation, blinding light, ear-splitting boom. Leta flew through the air, landed hard. Pain everywhere. Horrible smell. Oh. Oh God, her hair was burning. Fire! She was on fire! Oh God oh no! Panicky, with numb fingers, she gripped her wand and croaked out the extinguishing spell. Smoke was rising from her clothes still. Hastily, she slapped it away. No more fire. No burns. Good. Good, good, good. Where…the meadow. Field. Whatever. She propped herself up on her elbows and saw bright lights of blue, red, white, green (killing curse? Jesus), yellow shooting back and forth, back and forth.

They were fighting. The others were fighting, trying to kill each other.

What to _do_? She couldn't abandon her comrades, but she wasn't exactly an expert in hand-to-hand combat, either. Getting backup would make sense. She could…yes, she could go ahead to the meeting place they'd agreed on before the group split up. Nocturna would lead her sister and that contact person back there, before they all went to get the frozen heart (how Newt had always rambled on and on about that _Hibernus_ thing!).

The Malfoy brothers and that insane Ethel woman could handle two Aurors; it was clear that Picquery's voice had been a fake. They could handle it. If they couldn't, then they'd need help, anyway. Besides, Ethel had blown them all sky-high without really asking for permission, so this one was on her. What a horrible person.

Leta needed to do what was right for her; she'd told Newt as much a long time ago. He didn't understand, but that didn't make it any less true in her eyes. Squinting against the rain that pelted her sore skin and shivering in the miserable cold that only got worse after the big boom (which had luckily only singed her clothes and hair), she tottered to her numb feet. She closed her eyes, focussed on the place she needed to be, gripped her wand tightly, and Apparated to safety.

This wasn't cowardice; it was survival.

Those who didn't agree usually ended up rotting in the ground.

* * *

 **5** **Petronius explained to the Prewett sisters how the rest of this little expedition** was going to go, to which Celestia listened with growing apprehension. If she'd been by herself, as had been the plan before the Aurors caught her and Nocturna freed her, she'd follow Petronius in a heartbeat. The problem was that now, not only she was involved in this whole sordid affair, but also the Gellert Grindelwald movement – worse, her ex-husband, ex-brother-in-law, sister, and former classmate were directly entangled in the mess that was this ill-conceived search. Not only didn't Celestia want to risk anyone else's safety – the fact that Alastair and his family were about to die was enough, as was the fact that she'd pulled quite a number on Newt Scamander. No, it was clear that the Grindelwald followers didn't much care for Celestia's plight. They wanted the frozen heart for themselves, to use it as a deterrent or even a weapon.

That was when Nocturna said what she was always going to say: "All right. We'll go with you. But after that, we're not directly returning to England. We're meeting up with my friends, first."

Petronius looked first from Celestia to Nocturna, then back again. It would've been comical if the situation weren't so awful. "But I thought Alastair's time was running out. We should get to him as quickly as possible, right?"

"Yes," Celestia said, rubbing her forehead. The pain was getting worse. She needed to get out of here and breathe some fresh air. "But since Nocturna and her friends broke me out of a MACUSA interrogation room, I agreed to help them."

Petronius's brow furrowed. "You can't trust these Grindelwald extremists. They'll take it away from you."

Nocturna bristled. "How dare-"

"Your sister might not backstab you, but whoever her friends are, _they will_. Those people are brutal, fanatic, and ruthless. _You can't trust them!_ " He put so much emphasis on that last statement, it sent a freezing shiver down Celestia's spine.

She cast Nocturna a doubtful look.

"But _we_ can trust _you_?" Nocturna shot back. The tendons in her neck were straining against her flesh. There were red spots high up on her cheeks. She'd balled her hands into fists. "Where've you even been these last five years, _Ronny_? Not playing Quidditch, I presume."

He snorted derisively and waved off. "Go to hell." Then, he locked eyes with Celestia again. "You know me. You know how bad I still feel about what happened to Alastair back then. He's my _friend_ , Celestia. I won't let him die. Will you? You will if you put his life in their hands. Don't trust the political zealots. Trust your guts."

Celestia felt more tired than ever. What the _hell_ was she supposed to do, here? This was too much – too damn much! All she wanted was to cast off the stress, the responsibility, the pain, the doubts, everything. All she wanted to do was run and hide. She couldn't, though. At school, she'd been a huge coward, playing a part in Newt's expulsion. Not too long ago, she'd ditched him because she couldn't face the moral dilemma that his mere presence kept bringing to the forefront of her mind. Now, there was no running or hiding. There was no more room for cowardice. Alastair's life depended on her strength of character, on her ability to ignore her crippling fears and finally take action without feeling sorry for herself.

It was time to make a decision.

Her heart was beating a frenzied rhythm. She was trembling all over. Her stomach lurched. Her head pounded. Her mouth was cottony. She turned to her sister, and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Nana."

Nocturna's eyes went huge. "No! _Wait!_ "

Celestia grabbed Petronius's sleeve, and he didn't need a second hint. In a split second, he'd Apparated both of them away.

* * *

 **6** **If there was one thing Tina had not anticipated,** it was that the Grindelwald fanatics would blow up the barn they were hiding in. Everything else happened so, so fast. She only had time to gather her thoughts for a second. Then, a whole bunch of those jerks were firing hexes in her general direction. They were at least four and she was alone over here, but fears of imminent death made way as cold panic gripped her innards.

Queenie!

Oh, _God_ , no!

Queenie was a competent witch, but she wasn't an Auror. She didn't know how to fight! The already feeble plan had fallen apart completely.

Tina shot a few hexes in the general direction of the attackers, too, and quickly Apparated to her sister's side. The anti-Disapparation jinx was no longer functional. Good! "You okay?"

"Uh-huh!" Queenie looked a tad dishevelled and a lot scared, but she was unharmed. Great. "These people are crazy!"

"Sure are. I don't see Celestia Prewett!" Had…oh, great. Had Tina really fallen for the oldest trick in the book: the old wand switcheroo? How embarrassing. "Take cover behind that tree!" She pointed at a huge, gnarly oak before hiding behind a younger, slimmer one. When she fired off another hex, she heard a loud cry – a man. That was weird. It had been a spell meant to knock out, not to harm.

"Looks like you got one, Teenie!"

Tina allowed herself a little, grim smile. "Yeah, I-"

Over her head, part of the tree exploded. Boughs creaked and started falling; splinters flew like shrapnel. One pierced her left hand. Her brain registered the pain, but her blood was pumping too hard for her to be bothered by it. That would come later. She cast a look over her shoulder at her sister.

Queenie's right cheek was bleeding; otherwise, she was fine.

"You should go back! I can handle this-"

The air distorted right in front of Tina. What-

Damn it! Someone Apparating!

Before the person (woman) could appear fully before her, Tina jabbed her wand at them, yelling, " _Stupefy!_ "

The woman – did Tina _know_ her? – dodged the spell, pointed her own wand at Tina. "Ava-"

" _Expelliarmus!_ " What the hell? The _killing curse_? Overkill, ha, ha.

Tina's opponent's wand flew wide. Good!

No-one else was firing. Now, a quick look over her shoulder to see how her sister-

"Teenie, _look out!_ "

Before Tina knew what was even happening, the crazy witch with the impractical hairdo launched herself at her, knocking her to the muddy, dead-leaf-carpeted ground – knocking Tina's wand away.

Tina hit her head, saw stars, gasped for air.

The woman's face was a contorted mask of pure hatred. As she grabbed Tina's throat with one hand and one of her wrists with the other, something strange happened: it looked as if ink were flowing across her left hand, onto Tina's skin.

Oh, no. Was this…oh, damn it. Tina was finally able to start struggling.

"Now you're really up shit creek without a paddle, you b-"

" _Stupefy!_ "

A burst of light hit the crazy witch in the side. She all but flew off Tina, crashed against a tree, fell on the ground, and lay motionless – knocked out.

Tina was still scrambling to a sitting position when Queenie dropped on her knees next to her. Her left hand was screaming in pain now and bleeding profusely. She was more concerned about her right, though, even though there were no symptoms as of yet. Unfortunately, that would change soon.

The look on Queenie's face was one of both misery and worry. "I never knocked no-one out before. You okay, honey? You're bleeding."

"I'm fine. It's just a flesh wound," Tina said, grimaced, shut her eyes tightly for a few seconds, and fought against the dizziness threatening to topple her. The bout passed. She opened her eyes, pointed her wand at her left hand, said, " _Vulnera sanentur_ ," and watched the wound vanish, along with the pain. Then, the moment of truth came. She pulled back her right sleeve and saw what she expected to see: a black tattoo in the shape of a thorny vine around her wrist. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

"What _is_ that?"

Feeling strangely detached from herself, Tina said, "It's a poisonous tattoo," and pulled the sleeve back down again. "A curse."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not yet. Help me stand. I need to tie that one up and see what happened to the others."

"One of them is just lying there. The others Apparated away." Queenie nimbly rose to her feet, brushed some earth and dead leaves from her skirt, and then helped Tina up. "Easy. You hit your head pretty bad." Her frown deepened. "How bad is this curse?"

"It's…not very good, but don't worry. It'll be okay."

Queenie's expression turned reproachful. "I don't like it when you lie to me. You know that I know, so why bother?"

"Let's tie this woman up." Sometimes, it was better to just pretend it was possible to have secrets around Queenie. Resolutely, she marched over to the unconscious witch, pointed her wand at her, said, " _Incarcerous_ ," and watched as thin ropes bound the witch's body. She seemed familiar, didn't she?

"That's because you do know her. You caught someone she cared about – a brother, I think. She really hates you." After some hesitation, Queenie added, "She wants you dead – got that poison ink for that purpose."

"She must've done it recently. The original carrier has to pass it on inside of a month; otherwise, it kills them."

"You ain't sure if it'll kill you, but it's possible."

Tina closed her eyes for a moment, gathered herself, then turned around to face her sister. "I will do what I can to fix this. Meanwhile, we have to get this woman back to MACUSA – her and the one out there in the field. They can-"

"He's dead."

"How do you know?"

"Something I saw in her mind. I couldn't make sense of it first, but that's it."

"It's their own fault," Tina said, scratching her forehead. Still, she felt as if she'd swallowed a bowlful of lead. She hadn't cast any spell capable of killing someone, and yet, a man had died. How the hell was she supposed to cope with that? She told herself to knock it off. There was a time and a place, and this was neither. The truth would come out; it usually did. "Come on. Celestia Prewett might've gotten away, but at least I won't go back to Graves empty-handed."

"We. We won't go back empty-handed."

"Sure." Tina had no intention of dragging Queenie into this mess any further – neither did she plan on giving up the search for Celestia Prewett. "The important thing right now is that we have proof Prewett was working with these fanatics."

"Not if she was a mole."

"One of these people had her wand, Queenie. She switched wands to lure us into a trap and make a clean getaway. Does that strike you as someone who's working with the government?"

"No. But I looked into her mind and saw no sympathy for Grindelwald." It was amazing how willing Queenie always was to see the best in people, despite the fact that she could look into their heads and feel all the ugliness they secretly carried around.

Tina smiled a little. "You saw a desperate woman who'd do anything to save someone she loves." She reached out and touched Queenie's elbow. "Come on, now. The weather's horrible, and I want to be back in New York before this pleasant lady wakes up and starts spitting more venom."

Queenie frowned again. "Bad analogy, honey."

"Bad but accurate." Should she not find a cure within the next seven days, she'd be as dead as that wizard lying in this godforsaken field.


	19. Know Your Enemy

**Know Your Enemy**

 **1919**

 **1** **During the three years since her class graduated from Hogwarts,** Celestia studied international wizarding law at the Franconian Institute For Higher Learning. The prestigious university was located in the largest all-wizarding town in the German Kingdoms, Albenheim – in the middle of the lovely Black Forest. The plan was simple, straightforward, and gave her complete peace of mind: she'd get her degree, go back home and get a job, marry Alastair and move in with him. Yes, it was utterly predictable, her life, but it was exactly what she wanted.

Unlike Nocturna, Celestia didn't really have a taste for adventure. She loved venerable halls and old books and quiet dinners, not traipsing around East European and Russian woods, getting singed by rabid dragons.

Alastair himself wasn't much of an adventurer, either. No, his parents owned a number of magical retreats all over Britain and the European continent. He intended to get into the accounting business. It wasn't glamorous or exciting, but it was good, steady, satisfying work.

They both loved their quiet years at the Franconian university and were both loath to leave, even though they were looking forward to the rest of their lives together.

All of that changed when, upon receiving their diplomas, they returned home to England.

The last day in Albenheim was bittersweet. Not one for extended and tearful goodbyes, Celestia convinced Alastair to pack his things early and head to the station for the early train. From there, they'd travel first to Paris and then take the transcontinental to London. It was a lovely, two-day journey she looked forward to.

It was a chilly early spring morning. The sky was overcast and it was drizzling, but nonetheless, the view from the station platform was breath-taking: in all directions, the dark-green forest spread like a blanket. From the tops of the conifers, white steam rose, as if dipping the trees in wispy clouds. There was silence surrounding the little station. Straight ahead, the university stronghold rose high above the treeline: millennia-old, impenetrable, venerable, eternal. It was peaceful.

Celestia couldn't help but sigh wistfully.

Alastair took her hand. His skin was cold; unlike her, he wasn't wearing gloves. "You can always take comfort in the knowledge that as people, we haven't made any progress in the past three-and-a-half years."

She snorted laughter, shook her head, and hugged him, leaning her head against his bony shoulder. "You're so silly."

"Who was it again that said that some people might grow old, but never grow up?" He put an arm around her waist and placed his other hand on her neck.

Through her scarf, she could feel the coldness of his skin and shivered. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, though.

For a moment, they stayed like that, holding each other, eyes closed.

Finally, as they heard their train approaching, she unclasped his grip, took his hands into hers, and ran her gloved thumbs across his prominent bare knuckles. "I've always loved your hands…and if you make some silly, innuendo-laden joke now, I'm afraid I'll have to hurt you."

"Not in front of the kids, dear," he said, and snickered. Then, more serious, he added, "Honestly, I wish they were stronger."

"They're beautiful like the rest of you." She raised her face and placed a kiss on his lips. "It was good to spend all this time here with you, away from the family drama."

"And that's a _lot_ of drama," he said, mockingly distraught. "You are, after all, dear Miss Prewett, half a Black. Your Hufflepuff dad doesn't really compensate for all the crazy."

"Idiot," she said, feeling a smile spread across her face. Despite the humidity and the chill, she was warm.

"I'm an idiot, yes, but I'm _your_ idiot." He smiled, too. It was a warm, honest expression that lit up his whole face and made him seem, to her, like the most lovely sight on Earth. "Now, how about I pretend I'm actually stronger than you and drag your luggage over to the friendly Franconian employee?"

"I think the friendly Franconian employee is heading our way, anyway," she said, and kissed him again. "Come, now. Time to go home."

"This is going to sound corny enough to give you diabetes, my love, but anywhere is home as long as I can go there with you."

The train came to a halt, the right compartment ahead of them.

She felt like she'd never be able to stop smiling again. "Do I even have to say it?"

He pretended to mull it over, then replied, "No, but you do know I'm a man of romance, so…"

"All right, then." She stood on the tip of her toes and whispered, straight in his ear, "I love you, Alastair Fawley."

"Hm," he made, placed his hands on her waist, and kissed the spot behind her ear. "I love you more."

They left their luggage for the employee to handle and boarded the train.

* * *

 **2** **After an overnight stay at a nice guesthouse in Paris,** they took the train that would bring them home to England in the morning. It was a quiet, uneventful journey – perfect, in other words. Quiet, peaceful and uneventful were attributes that both Celestia and Alastair valued. That was only one of the reasons why they were, in both their opinion, such a perfect match. In the end, however, one could have a million reasons why two people matched up well, or none could find no reason at all. Either they wanted to be together or they didn't. There wasn't really a logical explanation for love. It was either there or not.

Alastair's family home was in Kent, Celestia's in East Sussex. Therefore, they said their temporary goodbyes at King's Cross station. The plan was to go home first, get sorted, find a place to live in London, and then get married before moving in together. That might take a few months, but probably wouldn't consume more than half a year.

Speaking strictly for herself, Celestia couldn't wait.

As they exited the train and waited for their bags, they faced each other, holding hands. There was quite the hubbub all around them. It wasn't as if they didn't notice, or if the world fell away. It just didn't matter all that much.

He cracked a smile and ran his thumbs across her knuckles. "It won't take long now, dearest Miss Prewett, until you're not Miss Prewett anymore."

"No, not long," she said, returning his expression easily. It was impossible not to. Her face felt warm, her body light. She gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "But before that's all settled, I look forward to seeing you next month."

"It's going to be weird, isn't it? Being apart for weeks at a time."

"A little. It won't be too long, though; you'll see. Besides, it'll be worth the wait."

"I know." After leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her lips, he chinned in the direction of the wall exit. "There's your ride."

She cast a look over her shoulder and saw her father approaching. Raising her eyebrows, she said, "Father's picking me up personally? That's unusual," let go of Alastair's hands, and turned to face Professor Prewett.

Father approached them smiling. It looked a bit strained, and he seemed unusually pale. "Tia! Alastair! Welcome home." There was something stilted about the way he said this, as if he were forcing himself to act cheery against his better instincts.

Celestia exchanged a wary look with Alastair, who'd clearly picked up on the other man's oddness, and then briefly hugged the latter. "Thank you. Are you all right?" She broke off the embrace and scrutinised him, a frown creasing her forehead. "You look ill."

"Ill, me? No, no – I'm fine. Just a little tired; that's all. Come on, now, dear. Your mother's waiting."

All right, now she definitely knew that something was off. Her whole body tensed up. "Did something happen while-"

"Nothing happened. Everything is fine." Could he sound any more artificial if he tried?

It seemed unlikely to Celestia. Without even thinking about it, she took Alastair's left hand in her right one. The touch reassured her at least a little. Something was up, though. Something was undeniably up, no matter what Father tried to tell her. But why would he lie? This did not bode well in the slightest, especially because it was clearly something that could neither be told via correspondence, nor in Alastair's presence – a family matter, then. Oh, dear.

A uniformed man pushing a trolley with Celestia's luggage approached them.

Father said, "Follow us, please," nodded toward Alastair, and started marching off.

Feeling a little dizzy, her stomach already in knots, she gave Alastair a last brief kiss and hurried after Father.

All the way to their enchanted car, neither of them spoke a word.

The luggage was stowed in the boot, the Prewetts settled on the leather-covered backseat, and the driver started steering the vehicle through the London traffic, between the Muggle cars and unsuspected by them.

Finally, Celestia could take it no longer. "Father, just tell me what's going on, please. Your attempts at deflection are transparent and not fooling me in the slightest." This sounded stilted, too, but it was hard for her to find the right words when she was preoccupied.

Father opened his mouth to – no doubt – spout another lie, but then reconsidered. His shoulders slumped a little. He scratched his high forehead and blew out a heavy breath. "Tia, what you've got to understand is that all your mother and I want is for you to be happy. However, family comes before personal contentment. In our circles, family duty is everything. You _need_ to understand this." At no point during his little speech did he look at her.

Her heart picked up the pace. She felt cold; her skin erupted in gooseflesh. Her mouth went dry. Sweat started to bead on her forehead. She placed her left hand on his right arm. "You're frightening me. Just tell me what's happening – _please_."

This time, he briefly glanced at her, looking more than unhappy. No, he actually looked desolate. "We need to be home for this, sweetheart; I'm sorry."

She leaned back, closed her eyes, and tried to calm her heartbeat through her breathing. It didn't work at all. Something horrible was about to happen. There was no breathing one's way through it. That much was clear to her.

* * *

 **3** **The Prewetts lived in a small village called Ninfield.** It was only a few miles away from Bexhill-on-Sea, from whose beach promenade one could glimpse the French coast on clear and sunny days. The house Morgan Prewett had renovated in order to make it suitable for his bride wasn't too big, but it was beautiful and scenically set: three stories high and two centuries old, it stood alone on a vast and wild meadow, efficiently concealed from Muggle eyes and inaccessible to any magical folk who were not welcome.

The ground floor was where the largest chamber, the drawing room, was set. In there, not only Mother waited, but also Janus and Pandora Malfoy and their youngest son, Apollo.

By the time Celestia walked into that room, she'd started feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Her hands were shaking and her head was swimming; she was strangely beside herself. Was this even real? Was any of it happening? No, she must still be in Albenheim, safe in her bed, having a bizarre nightmare.

The presence of the Malfoys could only mean one thing.

She stepped inside, the heels of her shoes clacking on the linoleum floor, her innards in knots. There were bright stars dancing all about her field of vision. She stopped at about six feet from her smiling mother and the Malfoys. All were looking at her expectantly.

"Celestia, don't be shy," Mother said, crossed the distance to where her own youngest was standing, took her by the elbow, and gently guided her toward her illustrious guests. "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

"I had. Thank you," Celestia said stiffly.

"And how is young Mister Fawley?" Seriously? She had the bloody nerve to ask after Alastair? _Seriously?_

Celestia stared at her as if she'd gone mad.

"You of course know our guests," Mother went on without a hitch, motioning toward the Malfoys.

What a farce. This was nothing but a ridiculous farce. Why even bother keeping up pretence? Whom was this serving? It was all so utterly devoid of meaning, so utterly _pointless_.

Still, unable to actually voice any of this, Celestia said, "How do you do?" She couldn't bring herself to smile, though. A strange little conversation resurfaced in her memory: she and Apollo, standing outside the Hogwarts castle, in the cold, talking about family duty or some such. She'd told him that he clearly knew something she didn't.

He'd told her that one day, she'd know, too.

Now, she did.

"Celestia, can you imagine why we are here today?" Janus Malfoy said. He was what both his sons would one day become, if the almost uncanny resemblance was any indicator. It wasn't exactly clear, but he came across as someone trying his hardest to be empathetic and kind. That couldn't be easy.

Well, ten points to Slytherin for trying, right? Celestia crossed her arms, if only to hide her shaking hands, and barely refrained from snorting with disdain. Her head had started to pound dully. Alastair came to mind, reluctant to let her go yet so sure of their soon-to-follow reunion. What a joke. There was a knot in her throat. Her vision grew blurry. She sniffled. "Yes, Mister Malfoy, I get it." She exchanged a look with Apollo, who did not seem phased in the slightest.

Why would he?

Clearly, he'd known for years. Clearly, he'd expected her less-than-thrilled reaction. Clearly, he'd lied to her because he thought it would be pointless to make her fret about their upcoming marriage before she graduated university. It would undoubtedly influence her academic achievements, which would then reflect badly on his parents' choice of bride. Maybe she was being unfair, projecting like this. Maybe he was just better at hiding disappointment and heartache than she was. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It didn't matter. The result was still the same.

She heard herself saying, "So what's the payoff, my dear parents? Uncle Baldur's early release from Azkaban? That embassy in Prussia?"

Father awkwardly shuffled his feet. Mother just returned her look flatly.

"It's the latter, then. Well, that's good to know. It's good to know you're getting decently compensated for selling me like cattle."

"Tia, sweetheart, please don't make a scene," Father said – more like mumbled – as Mother shook her head in disapproval so obvious, it was almost comical.

"You people just love saying that to me, don't you?" She sniffled and blinked. Tears spilled down her cheeks, clear mucus ran from her nose. She dug a handkerchief out of her coat pocket and angrily mopped at the mess, not caring about how undignified this was. "You knew – all of you – for years, and yet you let me think…let me live in the certainty that I would…that I…" It was too much. Her voice broke. Pressing her lips together, she spun around and ran out of that wretched room, that wretched house, into the well-tended garden. The fresh air helped cool her furnace-hot face. She found her favourite bench, underneath a wrought iron rose arch, dropped herself on it, buried her face in her hands, and burst into choked, painful sobs.

This was a nightmare.

After a moment, she felt more than heard someone settling down to her left. "I'm sorry I lied to you, kept this from you. It wasn't my idea, but I agreed that it would be best if we waited until you came back from Franconia."

Celestia drew a few deep, ragged breaths, sat up straight, blew her nose noisily, and then said, "I don't care how _sorry_ you are," without gracing Apollo with a direct look. From the corner of her eye, however, she could see him run his black-gloved hands through his almost white hair.

"It can't be changed. It's a done deal. I grant you your grief – we all do – but you need to pull yourself together. Believe me: you'll only make your life harder if you don't."

Yes, indeed. She knew. Of course she knew. This was so terrible. She couldn't even blame Apollo, who didn't exactly get a say in the matter, either. He wasn't a bad person; he'd never mistreated her, and she was sure that they'd be able to develop a fine relationship over time – just like her parents.

The problem was, he wasn't Alastair.

She felt fresh tears coming on. Her head was howling in pain now. She felt ill. Grabbing fistfuls of her skirt, she chewed on her lower lip. "What do I do? What do I _do?_ "

"Your duty to your family," he said, and gently took her left hand into his, "for the greater good."

* * *

 **4** **As they all knew she would, Celestia did calm down, did not rebel,** did resign herself to her fate. It was for the good of the family, she was told. If she kept repeating that to herself often enough, she might even end up believing it. In time, she would. After all, her reaction had been selfish, hadn't it? Throwing a tantrum like that was hardly dignified. At least she'd had her wonderful years with Alastair, and those would forever be memories that she treasured.

There was also always the distinct possibility that she was merely rationalising the fact that she'd caved to her family's demands like a right coward.

Was there a way not to, though? Nocturna, bless her rebellious little soul, had found one. She'd joined the ranks of wizarding superiority advocate Gellert Grindelwald, everyone else be damned. Truth be told, that _was_ a little easier than refusing a carefully arranged marriage; after all, most Pureblood families supported Grindelwald's ideas, one way or the other. Yes, Mother and Father had had other plans for Nocturna, but her rebellion wasn't nearly as shocking as if Celestia were to just send them all to hell.

Once she'd come to terms with the thorough shattering of her beautiful plans, there was really only one thing to do: meet up with Alastair and tell him that they were no longer a couple.

To her shame, she nearly accepted Apollo's offer to do it in her stead. The prospect of facing Alley and breaking up with him was daunting, overwhelming even. However, for once she forced herself to not be a coward. Her compliance and cowardice had helped get poor Newt Scamander expelled from Hogwarts. He'd landed on his feet, mostly due to his mother's acceptance and Dumbledore's support, but still, he'd come out of the whole debacle relatively unscathed.

That didn't mean that the number they'd pulled on him – Leta Lestrange, the Malfoy brothers, Alastair, and Celestia – hadn't been horrid and simply unforgivable. It had. There was no changing that now. There was no taking it back. There was only learning from one's mistakes. Celestia only hoped that doing what was expected of her was actually the brave choice instead of the cowardly one. She honestly didn't know. It was all so confusing, so terribly confusing.

She met up with Alastair in Diagon Alley, in front of Flourish and Blotts. It was cold and draughty, belying the oncoming spring. Her hands, though gloved, were numb, as were her nose and ears. Her stomach was roiling. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed, fall asleep, and wake up from this bleak reality. When she spotted him, her heart started thrumming.

He was wearing a long, dark coat. His usually pale cheeks were flushed from the cold. His black hair was windswept. He was intently studying the shop's display.

"Alley."

At the sound of her voice, he turned and smiled. It wasn't a happy expression, though, but a pained, forced one. Well, of course. He was no fool – never had been. "You look awful, my love. What have they made you do?"

That was it. Before she even knew what was happening, she burst into desolate sobs, slapped her hands to her face, and would have fallen to her knees if he hadn't caught her.

For an untold number of minutes, he just held her tightly whilst she clung to him for dear life. This was the end of everything, wasn't it? It must be. Of course it was. She recognised it.

* * *

 **5** **He hadn't tried to convince her to change her mind,** to ignore her family, to follow her heart – none of that. Instead, all he'd done was hold and comfort her as she held and comforted him. He'd tried to keep himself from crying, though that didn't work out too well. Somehow, this was worse than if he'd thrown a tantrum. But she'd known in advance that he'd never do that, hadn't she? She'd known. Alastair would never make things harder for her – never. That just wasn't in his nature…

…and yet, there they were, both unhappy, both having to pick up the broken pieces and somehow glue them back together. What a godforsaken mess.

After the hardest goodbye she'd ever had to say, she dragged her unwilling body inside Madam Malkin's, needing to be fitted for her engagement party's new frock – what a colossal, tasteless joke. It was the old owner's daughter who greeted her. As far as Celestia was informed, she'd taken over the shop a couple of years ago. Celestia told her what exactly she was looking for and then took a seat as she waited for the tailor to return with some fabric samples.

When the little silver bell above the door chimed, she didn't look up, but kept staring gloomily at the gloves in her pallid hands. Her skin was dry; some of her nailbeds were a little cracked.

"Celestia Prewett," a familiar voice said, to her right, sounding unsure.

Moving slowly, as if under water, she raised her aching head and focussed her sore eyes on the newcomer. Recognition was quickly followed by the sharp, unpleasant sting of guilt shooting through her guts. "Newt Scamander. How are you?"

"All right," he said, in that muttering manner of his, and started fumbling with his knitted scarf. It was clearly handmade – in the Hufflepuff House colours, no less. This was both sweet and sad. He looked down at his mud-caked boots, then squinted at her. "What happened to you?"

She had to close her eyes for a few seconds and collect herself, lest she start bawling again. It would simply not do. Besides, this wasn't his problem, and she was pretty sure he didn't want to be bored with her drama. "I had to break up with Alastair because my family wants me to marry Apollo Malfoy." It was almost funny how flat and unemotional those words sounded.

A few seconds ticked by in awkward silence.

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. That's just awful."

"Yes. Yes, it is." She raised her face and smiled wryly. It probably looked like a grimace. At least it felt like one. "This probably means nothing to you, but I wanted to apologise for my conduct at school. I was a coward. I should've stood up for the truth, but I didn't. I'm sorry – truly."

He let this sink in for another short moment, before saying, "It's all right. It was a complicated situation. I got over it. You should, too."

"So…it's not meaningless to apologise?" She hadn't got any forgiveness from him and didn't expect it. To be honest, she didn't even know if she wanted it.

Her words, however, made him smile a little. "Never. You're the only one who has – you, the one least involved in the whole mess."

"Guilty all the same, as you'll no doubt agree." She rubbed at her eyes. That only made it worse, somehow. "You're doing all right, I'm told."

"I am. Thank you." He pressed his fist to his lips and quietly cleared his throat. "Maybe it would be braver if you did what you really want."

Oh, how heavy she felt – heavy and as old as time. She looked down at her hands in her lap again. "Maybe. It doesn't matter."

"It might one day." He chuckled lowly. "I believe that we all get to the point where we can't deny ourselves anymore, no matter what our families think."

What was she supposed to reply to that? Perhaps he was right, perhaps not. Did it matter? The question was: did she want it to matter? Well, of course – of course she did. Should there ever be a quick fix, she'd take it. Hell, she'd take _any_ fix. There wasn't a way out, though – none that she could see.

That was when young Madam Malkin returned and their conversation was cut short.


	20. The Lady of Shalott

**The Lady of Shalott **

**1925**

 **1** **Taking that crazy witch and the dead wizard back to New York had been the easy part.** Sending Queenie away, back home had been harder, but luckily, Queenie had understood that she'd only be making things harder for her sister if she stuck around for what came next. The moment Tina Apparated in front of the MACUSA headquarters, she and her prisoners were seized by her Auror colleagues. The unconscious witch and the dead wizard were taken away. Tina was brought to the same little grey room where, only a short while ago, she'd watched Graves interrogate Celestia Prewett.

They left her there, by herself, sitting on that uncomfortable metal chair, for a good long while. Naturally, she didn't move. Not only did she not want to make matters worse, she also had no idea where else she was supposed to go. This profession was, for better or for worse, her life. There was nothing else she could imagine herself doing.

After what felt like countless aeons, the door was opened, and no-one other than Percival Graves stepped inside, a pained expression on his face. He sat down opposite her, steeped his fingers, blew out a heavy breath, and shook his head. "You're lucky the President herself signed that permit, Tina. Otherwise, I'd lock you up in the same cell as Ethel Partridge…you know, the woman who poisoned you." He briefly motioned at the black tattoo on her right wrist. "If you'd listened to me, none of this would've happened. Celestia Prewett wouldn't be in the wind. Ares Malfoy wouldn't be dead."

Malfoy. That name sounded very familiar. Ah, yes: English Pureblood family. Very rich and prestigious. Not the kind of people who'd ever associate with someone like Tina. It wasn't as if she felt any sympathy for them, due to the fact that this Malfoy character had tried to kill Tina and Queenie, but she still lowered her head, and said, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry for what? Hm? For disobeying my direct order? For going behind my back? For messing up my operation? For dragging your sister into this? For getting the eldest Malfoy son killed and yourself as good as? Now what the _hell_ are you even sorry for?" He'd started to sound increasingly angry over the course of his little speech. For a moment, he just glared at her, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. Then, he inhaled deeply, ran his fingers through his dark hair, tugged at his cufflinks, and leaned back in his chair. "This is your biggest problem: you're so convinced you're doing the right thing that you completely ignore the fallout of your decisions until it becomes impossible to do so. Now, you're in a possibly fatal pickle, Tina, and I wish I could say that was the worst of it. It's not, though. All of this" – He motioned about with a brusque wave of his hand – "is bigger than any one of us."

"At least we now know that Prewett had no intention of cooperating with us." Tina knew that getting smart wasn't exactly the best move right now, but it wasn't as if she had all that much to lose. Besides, she was right about this, and he needed to realise that he was mistaken. So much depended on it – so much.

" _All_ we know is that she evaded capture by an overzealous Auror who's incapable of following orders," he retorted, more weary than annoyed. "She trusted me. You've broken that trust and made me look like a liar in the process." For a few seconds, he closed his eyes, presumably to keep himself from strangling his underling. When he looked at her again, he seemed more or less resigned to his fate. "The damage has been done. You might as well stay and help me clean up your mess. We need to find out what Miss Partridge knows – not only about the Grindelwald followers or the frozen heart, but also about that curse she passed on to you."

She looked at him squarely, thin eyebrows raised. "Sir?"

He gestured for her to get up from her chair – the chair on the wrong side of the interrogation table, so to speak. "Sit here." He pointed at the chair to his right. "She'll be here shortly. Don't let her provoke you. That witch has got quite the reputation, and that was before you killed her paramour."

"No, sir." Paramour? This dead Malfoy person romantically involved with a no pedigree Yank witch? How about that. Not that this was any of Tina's concern right now. She did as bid. Her legs felt a bit wobbly. Was she really still allowed to work as an Auror? Never mind the whole impending death thing; she'd deal with that once it became necessary. This was good news. Up until now, she hadn't allowed herself to acknowledge that she'd been afraid to lose her job. Fear for her life would have to wait. One couldn't burden oneself with too much all at once. Besides, fear paralysed a person and muddled coherent thoughts. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm only letting your insubordination slide because of the very distinct possibility that you might die a week from today."

A _week_? This was worse than she'd thought. Her throat constricted. Her hands felt clammy and cold.

He said, "However, be warned: one more step out of line, and you'll be sweeping floors in the basement – if you survive this completely unnecessary curse that you are entirely to blame for." He leaned in just a little to add, "Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly…sir."

That was when two Aurors accompanied the handcuffed Ethel Partridge into the room. She was a little green around the gills, not to mention dishevelled, but no worse for wear. In other words: she'd live.

The same could not be said about Tina.

Ethel was pushed into the chair non too delicately. She glowered at the two Aurors who'd handled her, and then offered Graves and Tina a sour little smile. "Nice tattoo, Goldstein."

"Keep civilised and so will we," Graves said, unimpressed. He was watching Ethel with an unreadable expression on his face. "Have you been crying, Miss Partridge? Should I offer you condolences for the loss of young Mister Malfoy?"

"Go screw," Ethel said, bit her lower lip, shook her head, and snorted. After a few seconds, during which she clearly did her best to compose herself, she locked eyes with Tina again. "At least you'll be dead meat in a week, too – only comfort for me." She focussed on Graves. "Lock me up, hurt me, kill me. It means nothing. I ain't gonna squawk." She didn't sound too enthusiastic, though, or too angry – just sort of tired, really.

"Maybe you will," Graves said, utterly unfazed. It was virtually impossible, getting that man to lose his cool.

Tina wasn't sure whether it was an accomplishment to be proud of the fact that she had. She only just managed to refrain from scratching her right wrist. Had it really started to itch or was she imagining things? There was a sour taste in her dry mouth. She felt a little cold.

"One thing I can tell you," Ethel said quietly, staring at Tina as if wanting to burn a hole into her brain by sheer willpower, "the man you killed? He was worth a thousand of you – a thousand, and now he's gone. Because of you, he's _gone_."

"You shouldn't have tried to kill _me_ , then," Tina replied flatly.

"You loved him," Graves said, drawing Ethel's attention to himself.

It worked. She faced him. Her eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears. She blanched. "Do you know what that's like? To go through life believing you're made of stone, feeling nothing…and then, out of nowhere, you see this person, this one person, and it all just shatters? And you know, just _know_ that whatever fortress you've built to protect your heart, it's gone forever because that person tore it down just by being there? It's like a curse that comes upon you from above, and there is _nothing_ you can do to change that."

He offered her a subtle, wistful little smile. "I know what love is."

Ethel sniffled. When she blinked, tears spilled down her cheeks. She chuckled humourlessly. "Yeah. Sure you do."

Graves said, "I've got a deal to offer you, Miss Partridge. Since you have nothing left to lose, why not at least hear me out?"

To Tina's surprise, Ethel deliberated for a moment and then shrugged. "Shoot, boss-man. Ain't nothing better on the horizon, anyway."

* * *

 **2** **The moment Celestia allowed Petronius Flint to Apparate himself and her out of that stuffy little room and away from Nocturna,** she regretted the decision – not because she had buyer's remorse, but because she'd stabbed her own sister in the back. Then again, did she even have a choice? Like Petronius had said: Grindelwald fanatics simply couldn't be trusted to keep their end of the bargain. Nocturna might have intended to help her sister out, first, yes – probably. However, didn't she also believe blindly in the greater good? Was it really for the greater good to allow Celestia to risk capture as she took the damned object back to England in order to cure Alastair and his family? That didn't make sense even to Celestia. No, if she were Nocturna or any Grindelwald acolyte, she'd snatch the thing right away from her and use it for purposes of the cause. What were a few dead witches and wizards in face of a higher, noble goal? Not much, really.

This spur-of-the-moment decision might constitute betrayal, yes, but Celestia had her own higher goal to think about. Alastair was almost out of time. He needed her. She needed him. Oh, God, how she needed him. From the moment they'd met, she'd known and understood this. It had felt like being struck by lightning, like finding the switch that set in motion a beautiful, yet terrible and cataclysmic chain of events – something completely and utterly inevitable, undeniable. It was hard to describe – perhaps even impossible. All she knew was that she needed him and much as he needed her. What was a little betrayal in the face of all that? Besides, she'd done things much more reprehensible in order to even get where she was now. It was not the time to get squeamish. Leaving her daughter behind and getting shunned by her own relatives would not be in vain. This was going to work. It just had to. It _had_ to.

They materialised in another godforsaken American forest.

To be honest, Celestia didn't even care where she was anymore. All she wanted was to get the frozen heart, return home, heal the love of her life, and move on from all of this. Sure, she'd never be able to return to America again, but that was a small price to pay. If only Alastair got to live, she'd pay almost any price.

"Are you all right?" Petronius said, from her right, eyeing her with obvious worry. "I didn't splinch you, did I?"

A little dazed, Celestia looked down at herself, raised her hands to her face. "No, I'm quite all right. Thank you." She took a deep breath of that rich, earthy, leafy forest air. Immediately, the weariness that had been dragging at her alleviated, as did her headache. It didn't exactly go away, but it became bearable. She pushed back all guilty thoughts about turning on her sister. "Where to now, Ronny?"

He nodded, adjusted his robes, wiped his forehead, and pointed up ahead. "Through those trees, there's a clearing. A creek flows through it. We need to follow that for a while."

She was just starting to wonder why he wouldn't describe the entire way to her, but told herself to knock it off. Wariness was good, paranoia overkill. "Let's not waste any time, then."

"Follow me." He started marching away through the underbrush.

Without hesitating, she followed. As they laboriously trudged through undergrowth, tried not to slip on dead leaves, and tripped over treacherous roots, she wondered what had happened to Apollo and the others. They'd had the clear advantage over the one Auror – Goldstein – if one Auror really had been the entirety of their pursuers. Of course, maybe Graves had sent more people, but that wouldn't have made much sense – not after the talk he'd had with Celestia. He wanted her to work for him, didn't he? Getting her arrested again or even killed would be rather counterproductive to that end.

Did that mean Apollo and the others had murdered that Goldstein woman?

Celestia's stomach panged. If that were the case, then she was also responsible for it. What was scarier: the fact that she had to admit this to herself or that she'd do it again if it brought her any closer to saving Alastair? She had no idea.

After a miserable slog through the thick, humid forest, which tore at her already filthy coat and her pinned up hair, they reached the edge of the clearing. The air was even fresher here, and the sight was lovely. A few sunbeams broke through the clouds and cast a greenish glow on tall grass, wild autumn flowers, and a merrily gurgling stream that cut through the clearing diagonally.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Petronius said, mopping sweat from his face and panting.

"Indeed." Her breath came out in white puffs of vapour. "How much farther?"

"Not much. We follow the stream for a little bit, and it'll be right there." He pressed his hands to the small of his back and stretched. There was an audible pop. "Ah, better. Anyway, I suppose you know how to get back to England in time?"

She grimaced and wiped some damp strands of her ruddy hair out of her face. "The only plan I had was to sweep in undetected, get the item, and then sweep back the same way. I guess that this is no longer possible."

"You guess correctly. Don't be afraid, though. I can get us both back home undetected. You'll have plenty of time to save Alastair."

"Plenty of time? Hardly. But I'm hoping I'll have enough." She motioned ahead. Slowly, she was catching her breath, but pain in the side or no, there was no stopping now.

Neither Nana, nor her friends, nor Graves could locate her. Apollo had her wand; his wasn't registered here. Before they could get the correct permit paperwork nonsense from the Ministry of Magic, she'd be long gone – and that was if the Ministry would be willing to cooperate at all. The chances of that were slim to none.

Petronius patted her shoulder. "Come on. We're almost there. This nightmare will be over soon."

"Hopefully."

They set off again.

* * *

 **3** **"Attempting to kill an Auror will get you a lifelong prison sentence,"** Graves told Ethel calmly, in a tone that suggested nothing more serious than a bout of rain during an outdoor wedding. Just cast a shielding charm and you'll be fine!

Tina told herself to stop it right there. The problem was, her wrist was itching madly by now, and she didn't want to scratch it. Not only would that probably make it worse, it would also give this crazy woman at least some degree of satisfaction. Needless to say, that wasn't exactly high on the list of Tina's priorities.

"Actually killing an Auror," Graves went on, oblivious of Tina's internal musings, "now that's a death sentence right there – no chance for appeal. I know you're angry, Miss Partridge – Ethel. I know you're out for blood and that you blame Tina here for your losses."

Ethel made a face. "It's hard not too, champ. She killed both my brother and the man I loved. What do I care if you fry me in that lake of poison of yours? Go ahead. At least I'll die knowing I'm taking Goldstein with me." She sneered at Tina.

Tina, remaining stony-faced, half-turned to address Graves. "It's pointless, sir. Don't waste your time with this…person. All she'll do is try to blackmail us, and we both know we can't buckle under that kind of pressure."

"She won't, and you won't die," he said, not taking his eyes off Ethel. "Here's the deal: you tell me how to cure my Auror, answer all of my questions, and I will get you in protective custody instead of executed. Now, how does that sound?"

Again, Ethel surprised Tina by saying, "Not too bad. The only problem is" – She leaned in conspiratorially – "there is no cure for that curse, so I guess I'm fried anyhow."

Tina felt even colder. Immediately, her thoughts went to Queenie. She'd be so hurt. Tina's fear wasn't entirely selfless. Of _course_ she didn't want to die. The thing was, once she _had_ died, she'd stop caring. Queenie, however, would be all alone. That couldn't happen. It just couldn't.

Graves actually smiled a little. "Let me be the judge of that. Just tell me where you acquired the tattoo, the name of the" – The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly – "artist, and pray that he or she is able to reverse the curse."

"I don't pray," Ethel said, and chuckled, before she looked at Tina again. "But you should, honey; you really should."

It was a good thing that Tina managed to stay outwardly calm – by the skin of her teeth, but she did.

Graves, however, was having none of it. "Enough. Will you cooperate with us or not?"

Ethel faced Graves again, an amused expression on her youthful face. "Under one condition, boss." She waited, but neither of the others had anything to say. "I'll only talk to you personally – get my day in the limelight. You understand."

This was preposterous as well as ridiculous. There was absolutely no way that Graves would _ever_ cave to such a petulant demand and-

"Done," he said, without hesitation.

Tina bit down on her tongue and did her best not to just get to her feet and stomp out of there. Her wrist was starting to burn. Her time was running out.

* * *

 **4** **Petronius had told the truth: it really wasn't far.** Celestia was just about to ask how long they'd be walking beside the merry little stream when she saw where he was leading her: through the line of trees, clearly visible, was a rather big crater at least twenty feet in diameter and ten feet deep at its centre. The whole of the crater was covered in thick veins and delicate crystals of shimmering blue ice. Cold irradiated off it in pulsating waves. In the depth of the crater was a thick lump of ice; this, however, was shining white instead of blue.

Celestia stopped dead in her tracks, drew in a shaky, painful breath, and balled her hands into fists. "Is that…"

"That's it, safely waiting for us to fetch it and bring it home to mummy."

Did it even matter how he'd found it? Was there any sense in being suspicious now? Now that she was close, _so close_ to finally getting her hands on the one thing that could save Alastair's life? This close to the deadline?

Yes. Yes, it mattered. God help her, it mattered.

With all strength she could muster, she kept from just running blindly toward the stupid thing and snatching it up. Whatever else may be true, there was also the matter of her return voyage. By herself, she couldn't go home – at least the odds of her making it all the way to England undetected were negligible. Relying on outside help was less than ideal, but also quite unavoidable.

She focussed on the moment. "Ronny, how did you find it when nobody else did?"

For a few seconds, he said nothing. The blueish glow of the ice crater painted his face in a sickly hue. Finally, he half-turned in order to face her. "What I told you and your sister earlier is true. You can trust me, Celestia; really, you can. I've got a debt to pay."

Her heart was thundering and her stomach cramping worse than ever. Her hands shook. She felt a little nauseous. "I believe that. But I haven't come this far on blind trust. Please understand."

He nodded gravely. "I do…really. You want to know how I found it? Come with me." When she hesitated, he pulled up one corner of his mouth in a lopsided, wry little smirk. "It's all right. It's on our way." He led her toward the crater and pointed at a little ways to his right. "You see that pile of dead leaves and branches?"

She did.

Deliberately slowly, he pulled his wand out of his coat pocket, waved it once, and forced the cover of dead foliage away. There was…

…oh. It was body. A dead man. A man who'd been dead for what? A couple of days? Close to that.

Celestia pressed her lips together and stared at the corpse of this dead wizard: a tall, slender white man of perhaps fifty, blue eyes wide, wand still firmly in his gnawed-on hand. For goodness's sake. "This…I, uh…I assume this was the actual contact?"

He nodded. "Yes. I tracked him down based on Scamander's letters, based on what the scuttlebutt among Grindelwald fanatics was, and on general common sense."

"Why did you kill him?" The words came out in a dejected whisper. She just couldn't take her eyes off that dead body. Dead. This had been a human being. Now, it was just a piece of rotting meat. Her stomach roiled.

"Because he was gonna sell you out to the authorities, the little weasel." His broad, pleasant face became a mask of hatred and contempt. "Can't trust these types. They'd sell out their own mothers if there was profit in that."

"You know that for sure because…"

"Because I made him tell me. Does it matter?"

At last, she managed to drag her eyes away from the dead wizard and made herself face Petronius, who was staring at her in such a pleading manner, it was admittedly a little scary. "Not really." She discreetly cleared her throat. There was a knot in there that just didn't want to go away. The air was really cold here. Her whole body tensed up. Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh. Shivers ran down her back. Her teeth gnashed together seemingly without her approval.

"I can't let Alastair die any more than you can. _You've got to believe this!_ " He reached out, presumably to grab her by the shoulders, but then luckily reconsidered and let his hands sink again. "Please, Celestia. Let's just get this wretched thing and save him. We don't have any time to waste."

She thought of the day she had broken up with Alastair because her family had all but sold her hand in marriage for a political favour. She thought of her ill-conceived time with Apollo. She thought of her daughter, that tiny pink baby in her arms. She thought of her diminishing will to live, despite having a little girl to be there for. She thought of her decision to go back to the man she loved. Oh, _how she missed_ his smile, his voice, his stupid jokes, his arms around her. There was no going back. There was no time for regrets. Right now, all she could do was take a leap of faith.

"All right, then," she said, her voice firm and clear. "Let's go get the frozen heart and save the Fawleys."


	21. For The World's More Full Of Weeping

**For the World's More Full of Weeping**

 **1919**

 **1** **It had been five years since Newt had been thrown out of Hogwarts** for a crime he'd never committed. Crawling back home in shame hadn't been the world's most glorious event, naturally. Leaving school had been so much worse. He hadn't felt like talking to anyone on that fateful day, but of course, there'd been no avoiding that. His friends had wanted to know what the hell had been going on. The news had spread inside of a few hours – always did, at least when it was something negative. That was just how the world worked.

Then, there'd been Leta. He'd pretended she wasn't there the rest of the day, but even though she'd lacked the courage to say anything to him (or the teachers, for that matter), she'd stuck around in her typical passive-aggressive manner. The most painful realisation that he'd had to make had been that she would always, _always_ look out for number one. Leta was selfish and self-centred – always had been. He'd seen the good in her – and there was good – but he'd made himself blind to her greatest and most crippling character flaw.

They hadn't said goodbye to each other.

As he'd sat in the train, brooding and staring out the window yet not consoled by the beautiful vista, he'd wondered what his own greatest character flaw was. Stubbornness? Disregard for his fellow wizards and witches in favour of magical creatures? Naiveté? Navel-gazing? All of the above, probably – most likely. No-one was perfect. He didn't see himself as some sort of morally superior being who could lord over the lowly Slytherin peons or whatever. He'd never felt that he was better than anyone. Still, right after the fact, it had been a little difficult to not claim the moral high-ground over Leta's backstabbing.

That remained so for a long time.

His parents hadn't been thrilled, but they'd believed him and hadn't blamed him. He didn't tell them that he blamed himself for being so stupid and gullible, or for not ratting out Leta. It wasn't needed. They knew their son, knew him very well. They'd pondered going to Hogwarts and telling the teachers the truth, but not only did Newt not want this, it wouldn't have helped. Those Slytherin kids might fight amongst each other with surprising viciousness, but when challenged by outsiders, they stuck together like nobody's business. The Malfoy brothers and Alastair Fawley had taken Leta under their wing. There was no way they or any of the others, such as Petronius Flint or Celestia Prewett, would ever fall out of line.

Therefore, the Scamanders had needed to improvise.

At least Professor Dumbledore had been on Newt's side – still was. Thanks to his incessant intervening on Newt's behalf, Newt hadn't become a social pariah with no hope for education and profession. Dumbledore had organised tutors for Newt, had helped him achieve at least a partial degree. Because of that, Newt had been able to become apprentice to his mother. He had a profession because of his parents' kindness and Dumbledore's trust in him. For that, Newt would always be grateful to them.

His contribution to the war effort had probably helped restore his reputation, as well – not that he liked to think about that time, even though he hadn't actually seen combat. The dragons he'd cared for had, though.

Five years after his expulsion, he was pretty content with his life. During his off hours, he did what he could in terms of researching magical creatures and compiling something of a care manual for them. The expulsion from Hogwarts had, in the end, been a blessing in disguise. School had been too oppressive for him; adhering to strict rules simply wasn't in his nature. Maybe that was his greatest failing as a human being. At least Headmaster Black had felt that Newt believed himself above the rules. That wasn't entirely accurate, but not entirely inaccurate, either.

No-one was perfect.

He didn't go to London much, but sometimes, venturing the big city was unavoidable – for example when one needed nice robes for a business trip to Franconia. The Albenheim university housed the most extensive magical library in the world. In their possession was the only book about full moon moths in existence, which Newt had found out because he was in regular correspondence with the head librarian. She'd asked him if this subject would be something he might be interested in. When he'd enthusiastically replied that yes, he was very interested, she'd invited him to visit, as the book could not be lent.

He'd almost left on the spot, but his father had pointed out that he didn't own any decent clothes and that he couldn't go to a venerable institution such as Albenheim University looking like a beggar. Newt didn't care much either way, but he didn't want to come across as someone who didn't take his research seriously. Therefore, he gathered what spare galleons he had and spontaneously headed to the capital. It'd be a short visit to that tailor in Diagon Alley, get fitted, and wait for the robes to be ready for pickup. That shouldn't take longer than a fortnight – enough time for him to properly plan his trip to Franconia.

Blanche Trolldenier, his librarian friend, had in one of her letters joked that he might be the only person in the world who cared about full moon moths.

He'd replied that at least the book's author had cared, as well. It was his ambition to make information about magical creatures readily available to and easy to consume for every witch and wizard, no matter their background. Magical creatures were living beings that needed to be understood and protected. Their study should not be an obscure academic niche. Those were nice and dandy, but useless in a practical sense. This wasn't about theories of magic or something abstract like that. It was about living things that were as much a part of the wizarding world as wizards and witches themselves. They had as much right to live. They deserved respect and empathy. That, however, was only possible if people knew about them. One couldn't empathise with what one didn't understand.

On a dismally bleak and cold early spring morning, Newt walked into Madam Malkin's and found himself face to face with a dishevelled and puffy-eyed Celestia Prewett. She didn't see him at first and, to his shame, he nearly turned around on his heels and fled. Immediately, he felt like punching himself. For heaven's sake. It had been five years. They were both adults. It was time to lay the past to rest. Besides, she was obviously in distress. Nobody liked to cry in public. Something awful must have happened. He needed to not be a horrible person, no matter how she'd behaved in the past.

Hm. Perhaps he really did deem himself better than his former classmates. How about that.

After telling himself to stop it, already, he made himself say something – anything – before she realised that he was just standing there, gawking. "Celestia Prewett." Wow. Eloquent. Well, talking had never been his forte.

Slowly, as if waking up from some living nightmare, she craned her neck to look at him. She really did look horrible: eyes bloodshot and puffy, nose reddened, the rest of her face blotchy and sickly. This was one thoroughly miserable woman. "Newt Scamander."

* * *

 **2** **He had to admit to himself,** he felt like a lousy excuse for a human being for leaving Celestia Prewett stewing in her own wretched misery, all by herself. No, he wasn't responsible for any of her unhappiness, and yes, he still resented her for the part she'd played in his expulsion, but he didn't wish what was happening to her on his worst enemy – well, he wouldn't even if he _had_ any enemies. Being pressured by one's family to marry someone for political reasons? Awful. But that was apparently normal among these proud Pureblood families – the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight. That kind of pressure seemed unbearable to Newt. All those expectations, the social protocols, the endless rules of conduct? Not for him. If he'd felt stifled at Hogwarts, then this would be intolerable.

As he trudged on down Diagon Alley, bracing against the cold wind, hands in his pockets, he told himself to stop making it all about himself. This wasn't his ordeal. If he was to feel sorry, then for the right reasons. Still, he couldn't help but think about that awful Yule Ball at Malfoy Manor, over five years ago. How stuffy and la-di-da they all had been, how childish the prank that the boys had played on Leta – a prank with auspicious outcome.

Better not to think about that – about _her_. That never helped.

He decided to stop by Flourish and Blotts and browse a little. That always helped clear his mood. The air inside was warm and smelled of books and wood and people's perfumes. Immediately, he relaxed. It was way too cold for this time of year, wasn't it? The shop was fairly packed; some sensationalist tell-all, unauthorised Grindelwald biography had recently hit the shelves. Most customers were apparently here because of that.

Patiently, he wormed his way toward the stairs. The first floor housed a section on magical flaura and fauna. Most of the books were, in Newt's opinion, out of date or woefully misguided, but one could never know for sure. Maybe something interesting would catch his eye. In any case, there was certainly much less commotion upstairs, which was always good.

He'd just picked up a thin little book about bicorns and started frowning at the table of contents, which revealed that the book was mostly about the creature's use for potion-making, when a familiar voice called his name. He nearly dropped the book, mostly managing not to because that would be ridiculously over-the-top. Still, he tensed up. His teeth gnashed together seemingly on their own. Gripping the stupid book so tightly that his knuckles shone white through his skin, he forced himself to turn around and face the voice's owner.

Leta hadn't changed much. She was a grown woman now rather than a girl, but that was about it. As she stood there, wearing a stylish blue dress, smiling with caution and wariness yet also no small amount of hope, it was as if no time at all had passed. She still was as radiantly beautiful as ever.

God help him. All the anger, all the resentment, all the blame-placing, and now, he couldn't even be upset anymore. It just drained out of him like flour out of a sack. "Leta."

"How are you?" The hopeful tone matched her expression. She remained a little beyond arm's length, though.

"Fine. Thanks." Suddenly, he had a frog in his throat. He couldn't resist the impulse to stare at the book in his hands; idiotically, he was clasping it like some sort of protective shield. He made himself look at her again – all right, maybe not directly into her eyes, but at least in her general direction. "You?"

"I'm great. Thank you." A few awkward seconds ticked by. "You look fantastic, by the way. So grown up. So handsome."

For several reasons, the remark made him chuckle. "Thanks. You look…erm, well…happy. You look happy."

"I am. Are you? I imagine you must be. I read that article on doxies you wrote for that nature magazine. It was really good." Another weird silence ensued. "Reminded me of the old days."

Here he was, shuffling his feet, trying to make small-talk with Leta Lestrange, his erstwhile…well, what had they been, really? Friends? Sweethearts? Had she only used him for her own purposes and dropped him the moment he'd become inconvenient? Was he projecting way too much of his resentment onto her? Would the awkwardness ever end? This was so silly.

Realising he had to reply something, he blurted out the first words that came into his mind: "I try not to think about the old days."

She pressed her full lips together and looked away. Her light-brown skin was faintly flushed. "I don't blame you. It all went so horribly wrong." Then, she faced him again, putting on that waiting-to-catch-a-glimpse-of-Father-Christmas smile. "But it all turned out all right for you, so maybe it was for the best, really."

This time, he had no trouble locking eyes with her. "For the best," he echoed faintly. "Yes. It was all for the best." He slowly shook his head and gripped the book even tighter. There was a sour taste in his mouth. He felt like breaking something.

It had been too much to expect from her, hadn't it? That she might feel sorry. That she might regret what she'd done to him, what she'd taken away. That she might actually be willing to shoulder some responsibility.

Up until now, he hadn't realised that he'd secretly hoped she might show remorse.

She either didn't pick up on his undertone or chose to ignore it. It was probably the latter. "Yes. I'm glad you're okay." She nodded, probably more to herself than to him. "So…have you heard? Celestia Prewett is marrying Apollo Malfoy."

"I know." He wanted to tell her that this was no joyous occasion, judging by the bride-to-be's reaction, but Leta would most likely not care.

"Are you going?"

His brows knitted together. "Going where?"

"The wedding. At Malfoy Manor. In August. It'll be the event of the year." This was odd, wasn't it? Leta, all excited about some social gathering at Malfoy Manor – the wedding of Apollo Malfoy and Celestia Prewett, no less. Odd, odd, odd. Well, at least she'd found her place.

Good for her, he presumed. "I don't think so."

"Oh. What about the engagement party? That's in a few weeks. I forgot the precise date, though."

"Not going to that, either."

A third silence ensued. It was the weirdest one yet. A couple of young witches came bouncing up the stairs, chatting and giggling. They took no heed of their awkwardly bumbling elders.

He made himself look into Leta's eyes again. It hurt in more ways than one. "I got to go."

Her smile wavered, but didn't falter altogether. "All right. Maybe I'll see you at the party? You are a Pureblood, after all. At least I think so."

His frown steepened. Hardly even realising that he was doing it, he took a step back and nearly bumped into the bookshelf. "That's no reason for going to a party I wasn't invited to. I need to go. Have a good day." Abruptly, he spun around and headed downstairs, the little book firmly in his grasp. He could feel her watching him go.

* * *

 **3** **Apparently, this was the day of absurd coincidences.** Newt had hardly fled out of Flourish and Blotts, a book he hadn't even wanted newly in his possession, when he almost crashed into the narrow frame of Alastair Fawley.

Alastair had just sort of been standing there, in the middle of the street, looking forlorn and utterly miserable.

These Pureblood supremacists and all their drama.

The moment this thought went through Newt's head, he felt like the worst person in the world. What was _wrong_ with him? Just because he disliked Alastair, that didn't mean the latter deserved to have his heart broken. No-one deserved that. Also, even if they did, that didn't give Newt the right to be equally horrid in return, did it?

"Sorry," Newt said, and would have continued walking, but Alastair grabbed his upper arm and stopped him. "Please let me go."

Alastair seemed not to have registered that. He, slightly shorter than Newt, looked up at him thoughtfully. "Scamander. I was just thinking about you."

"Okay." Something smarter would not occur to him on the spot, but that was nothing new.

"You know, we're always so sure that the most important things in our lives can't be taken away from us, but that's not true. That's not true at all." Gone was the eternal smirk, the wit, the ceaseless sarcasm, the dumb jokes. He was almost unrecognisable like this.

Newt's arm was starting to go numb. This wasn't just the day for absurd coincidences, but also for awkward run-ins with former classmates – just one more reason why he didn't like the big city. The odds of unexpected meetings were way too high. "Please let go of my arm."

Slowly, Alastair's gaze wandered down to his hand right above Newt's elbow. "Oh. Sorry." He let go. "Something precious was taken away from me. That got me thinking – thinking about you, about what we did to you." He snorted humourlessly. "Celestia was opposed to it, you know, but Apollo and I, we talked her into staying silent. Well, I talked, he threatened. That's what he does. He always does that to people, like he's entitled to it." He locked eyes with Newt. "But getting Leta to shut up about it, getting all of them to shut up, that was my idea. My fault. I'm sorry."

It was too little, too late, but at least it was something. Newt had told Celestia that it was never meaningless to apologise. Also, at least Alastair _was_ apologising. That was something Leta hadn't managed.

Like he had in the bookshop, Newt gnashed his teeth together. He took a deep, soothing breath of the chilly air and forced himself to relax. "Thanks."

A wry little smile curved up the corners of Alastair's mouth. He scratched his aquiline nose. The wind was blowing his pitch-black hair into his pasty forehead. "You're a decent fellow, Scamander. Not that you give a fig about my opinion, but that doesn't make it any less true. For what it's worth, I really am sorry about what I've done to you. It was horrible. I knew it then, but I did it anyway. I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't expect anything."

"Then why are you even talking to me?" The words were out before Newt could stop himself. Inwardly, he whacked himself upside the head.

Alastair's smile broadened a bit. It was a faint echo of his usual smug smirk. The smugness was lacking, though. "I don't know. I suppose that with my world crashing down all around me, I felt it was time to confess my sins."

All of a sudden, Newt felt heavy and as old as time. All tension drained from his body. The wind was blowing through all the layers of his clothes. He was shivering. "I saw her earlier. She's just as heartbroken."

"Yes, I know." Alastair's eyes reddened. He mopped at them, shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and looked down at his shoes. "I suppose you'd say 'screw it all' to the family politics and machinations and elope with her, were you me."

"It's not my place to tell you what to do."

"No, indeed. But it's what you'd do. I can't, though. It would hurt her even more."

"Honestly, I don't think so."

Alastair snorted a dry, bitter chuckle. "Like I said, you're a decent fellow: gallant and honest and brave. Maybe that's why I hated you at school. I'm sorry for that, too, by the way. You didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It's all right." To be honest, he simply didn't have the energy for anger anymore. It was so draining, so _exhausting_. "I forgive you: you and Celestia and Petronius Flint."

"But not Leta?" Alastair cocked an eyebrow. "Never mind Apollo. He can jump down a pit for all _I_ care, and I used to be his friend."

"You do what you need to do, Alastair. I can't be mad at you anymore." Without waiting for a reply, he marched away. This had got to be the weirdest day he'd had in years, maybe even since he'd left Hogwarts.

* * *

 **4** **Three days later, he was feeding the Hippogriffs** when the family owl fluttered up to him and dropped an envelope on his head. Sighing inwardly, he threw the last five ferrets into the pen, wiped his hands on his coat, and bent down to pick up the envelope. Frowning, he looked at the sender's name, written in elegant calligraphy:

 _Celestia Prewett_

 _Ninfield, East Sussex_

Leta came to mind, as she often did when he had the least use for it – Leta, wearing a stylish blue dress, smiling and telling him that her backstabbing had been for the best, because he was clearly doing well for himself.

Feeling like an incorrigible idiot, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter within. It wasn't very long.

 _Dear Newt,_

 _on the 29th of March, Apollo Malfoy and I will be celebrating our engagement at Malfoy Manor. It would mean so much to me if you would_ honour _this special event with your presence. I understand that you most likely do not feel inclined to attend, but I urge you to do so, anyway. I wish to begin making amends to_ you, _if you will but give me the chance. Please accept my invitation; it would give me_ reason _to believe that even things that have been thoroughly shattered can somehow still be mended._

 _I thank you for your time._

 _Kindest regards,_

 _your friend Celestia_

Friend? Seriously? Since when? He just stared at the words until they started to swim before his eyes. So Celestia had decided to do the right thing to ease her conscience because her life was miserable. It was not Newt's responsibility to cater to that particular whim, was it? No, it wasn't.

He closed his eyes and blew out a heavy breath.

Damn it.

He'd go.

Of _course_ he'd go.

After all, he didn't want to slap away a hand held out in an attempt at reconciliation. How could he contribute to the unhappiness of someone who clearly needed help, who was explicitly asking him for support?

So yes, he'd go. Of course he'd go. He wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror if he didn't.


	22. A Heap Of Broken Images

**A Heap of Broken Images**

 **1919**

 **1** **The dress Celestia had tailored for her engagement party was the newest fashion:** silken and dark-green with silver, it had butterfly sleeves and long side drapes. Being Estella Black's daughter, she was keenly aware of social protocols, which included a rather rigid dress code. She liked dressing up for the occasion, much more than Nocturna ever had. Pretty dresses, shawls, hairpins, gloves, shoes: all those things were luxuries that Celestia enjoyed. Nocturna had often called her shallow, and maybe she was. What did it matter, though? If one was forced to live a life one did not want, at least one could indulge in a little extravagance. It was a poor substitute for Alastair, of course. Then again, nothing could replace him.

She stopped scrutinising herself in the mirror and tried, for the millionth time today, not to think about Alley. Mother had insisted he and his parents get an invitation, of course, because it would not do to exclude such an important family because of silly sentimentality. The idea had seemed cruel and callous to Celestia, but she'd caved – again. The family mattered more than her broken heart.

This had, during the last few weeks, become her mantra.

Sometimes, she still caught herself wishing she'd wake up in Franconia still – no such luck, though. This was reality. It was best to get used to it. Besides, it wouldn't be so bad. This was a good family she was marrying into. Apollo was already her friend…well, of sorts. Surely they'd find happiness together. If she couldn't believe this, then what was the point? What was the point of anything?

There was a crisp knock on the door – her door. She'd been offered this room to stay in from now until the wedding. It was a good idea, too, having her live here, giving her and Apollo time to get used to each other. Living in the same house as Ares wasn't too appealing a notion, but one couldn't have everything.

Again, she saw Alastair before her mind's eye, how he tried so hard not to weep, how he tried so hard to be strong. Her breath hitched in her throat. She drew a deep, shaky breath. This would not do.

There was another knock.

She gathered herself. "Come in!"

The door opened. It was Apollo. He was looking very dapper in his black dinner jacket, trousers, shoes, gloves, and shirt. All black was something like the unofficial Malfoy uniform. This night, however, only Apollo would be wearing it. He needed to stand out. It was his evening, after all.

"You are very handsome," she said, and smiled a little.

He returned the expression, said, "And you are a vision," closed the door behind himself, approached her, and took her hands into his. "We're scheduled to make our grand entrance soon. Are you ready?"

She nodded. Thoughts of Alastair, of the pain in his eyes, were not permitted. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good. Good." He let go of her hands and cupped her face. "I'm proud of you, Celestia. Despite your sorrow, you've comported yourself admirably. That is no small feat."

"Thank you. It must not be much easier for you."

"Oh, but it is." A wry little smile curved up the corners of his mouth, crinkled the skin around his eyes. It looked rueful more than sardonic. "I never loved anyone the way you love Alastair."

It hurt to hear that. It hurt enough to take her breath away. She wanted to avert her eyes, but he was holding her head firmly in his grasp. "Apollo…"

"I just hope that in time, you might feel something similar for me," he said, leaned in, and gently kissed her lips. Before she had any time to feel uncomfortable, he backed off, let go of her, and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Her heart was thundering. Her stomach roiled. Her face felt hot like a furnace. Her hands, however, were as cold as ice, her legs rubbery. Soon, there'd be more than just a rather chaste kiss on the lips. How the hell was she supposed to cope with that? Yet again, she was forced to suppress thoughts of Alastair. She hoped to any deity that might or might not exist that he would not show up tonight.

"We shall," she said, sounding astonishingly merry, and took his arm.

They went downstairs side by side.

* * *

 **2** **What followed was a long succession of hand-shaking,** nodding, smiling, and thanking – on and on they came: well-wishers, friends, opportunists. They were all there, from the most influential Pureblood families to Daily Prophet reporters. Celestia had been to balls and festivities just as glamorous as this one, but she'd never been the subject of one – well, half the subject. Truth be told, Apollo was the actual star of the evening. The guests were here for him. The younger Malfoy boy was engaged to be married to a suitable bride. The older one had married a year back. His own bride had been the oldest Yaxley daughter, Cordelia. Already they had a daughter of their own.

Now, it was Apollo's time to shine.

The bride almost seemed like an afterthought – not quite, of course, but a little.

That was all right by Celestia. She might like the glitz and glamour, but she did not cherish the glare of public attention. It was too much pressure, in the end. Unfortunately, it was something she needed to get used to. After all, the Malfoys were all but celebrities, weren't they? There was a reason they had enough pull to arrange that Prussian embassy for Celestia's relative.

She and Apollo were standing in basically the middle of the drawing room – a cavernous hall that was easily ten times the size of the drawing room in Celestia's childhood home – surrounded by friends and former classmates. Apollo had an arm around her waist, a hand on her hip. It was a little difficult not stepping away from him or even tensing up. This was something she needed to get used to. Her parents' marriage had been arranged and they were perfectly happy with each other.

However. _However_. Apollo himself had named the problem.

It was impossible to banish Alastair from her thoughts.

Still, she smiled. It felt artificial, but nobody would notice. Even if they did, they would never openly acknowledge this. All of her friends knew about her and Alastair; after all, they'd been joined at the hip for the better part of a decade. No-one had expected them to ever break up, least of all themselves.

Aceso Carrow, who was looking beautiful in an elegant black gown, was just telling an office anecdote, when something – or better, someone – drew Celestia's attention away.

Visibly insecure and sticking out like a sore thumb, a handsomely dressed Newt Scamander walked into the drawing room.

Both Aceso and Apollo caught her staring, apparently, as they craned their necks to see what was so interesting.

"Who invited _him_?" Aceso said, carefully plucked eyebrows raised.

"Celestia did," Apollo said, sneering a little. "She still has a heavy conscience regarding Scamander's expulsion and now feels compelled to throw him some breadcrumbs."

"You sound like your brother," Celestia said, tensing up a little. Her feet were hurting in her new shoes, and her back ached dully. "There's no need to be nasty. I asked him to come here. He's actually doing me a favour."

"Does Leta know he's here?" Aceso said, looking around.

Not two minutes ago, Leta had left to go powder her nose.

"I have no idea. Now, if you'd excuse me, I would like to welcome my guest." Celestia removed Apollo's hand from her hip and walked away.

When Newt spotted her, he offered her an awkward little wave. "Hello."

"Thank you so much for coming here tonight," she said, and briefly kissed his cheek, which he endured with patience. "You look debonair."

"I feel like I'm wearing a costume," he said, glancing down at himself. "These are the only fine clothes I own." He grimaced a little. "Honestly, I've no idea why I'm even telling you this."

She almost told him that he looked like he had no idea why he was here, but reconsidered. They weren't exactly the closest of friends, even though she'd called herself his friend in her letter to him. "Well, I'm grateful you made the effort."

He smiled a little. "What, to look presentable?"

"That's not what I meant." She touched his elbow. "Come on in into the lion's den. I'll make sure my friends are nice to you."

"I'll manage."

"So will I."

* * *

 **3** **Standing in the middle of a bunch of former Slytherins** who had conspired to get Newt thrown out of Hogwarts wasn't exactly what he would call a good time, but it wasn't horrible, either. These people knew when to pretend to be good friends when the occasion called for it, as it no doubt did tonight. They smiled, were polite, and not once mentioned the elephant in the room.

Well, to be fair, the by far bigger elephant in the room was the bride-to-be's obviously fake cheer and her obviously broken heart.

Things got a little weird when Leta joined the little round.

He said hello; she said hello. That was basically it.

The conversation trickled along almost like background noise, as Newt just stood there, a champagne flute in his hand, barely listening. It was all he could do not to stare at Leta for two reasons: she was breathtakingly beautiful, and he wanted to ask her what the hell was wrong with her. Just like in the bookshop, she was all smiles and dainty giggles and lively talk, as if she hadn't been responsible for nearly killing Alastair Fawley – as if she hadn't been responsible for Newt being expelled. That was what had happened, everyone knew it, and yet she'd apparently just re-written reality inside her own mind. After all, if nobody said the truth to her face, there was little need to acknowledge it, right? Right.

"…and to be quite frank, there is absolutely no logic behind all this mollycoddling of Muggles." That was Ares Malfoy, the older brother, who'd joined the merry troupe without Newt taking any notice. "They're no match for us, and yet, we let them rule the bloody planet."

Newt just stared at him, wide-eyed.

Celestia was frowning a little. "What do you suggest we do? Take over the world? Handle them like cattle?"

Apollo, Aceso Carrow, and Petronius Flint just exchanged knowing glances.

Ares arched his thin, almost white eyebrows at her. He was standing upright and uptight, as if someone had cast _Petrificus Totalus_ on him, but also as if something as profane as gravity couldn't pull the likes of him to the ground. "Why not?"

"Why not?" She scoffed, tensed up visibly. "First of all, because we haven't the right-"

"Tell that to your Grindelwald-supporting sister."

Celestia made a face. "Stop interrupting me. It's unseemly." She took a sip out of her own champagne flute. Her hand was trembling slightly. "Second of all, it wouldn't work. Human beings are resourceful – all of us, magic folk or no. Muggles may not have our power, but they have imagination for new technologies _and_ the numbers. There would be war. The losses would be catastrophic. It wouldn't be worth it."

"So you're in favour of skulking in the shadows for all eternity, are you?" Ares looked more disappointed than smug.

Nope, they were very obviously never going to be the best of friends, which was unfortunate. After all, they were supposed to be family. At the very least, they'd all be living in the same house. Hating the people you lived with tended to complicate things.

To be quite honest, Newt couldn't imagine what that might even be _like_ , living with the Malfoy family. Crikey.

"Look around you, Ares," Celestia said, and snorted derisively. With her free hand, she motioned about once. "Does any of your lifestyle strike you as overly discreet?"

Her fiancé and friends chuckled at that.

Ares's expression blackened. "Careful now, Celestia. You wouldn't want to be mistaken for a blood traitor, would you?"

Everyone stared at him: Apollo annoyed, the others incredulous.

Celestia blanched. All the muscles tightened in her face. "I am no such thing and I resent the implication." Her tone of voice as well as her expression belied her carefully chosen words. Rather, she looked like she wanted to bite Ares's head off. "Excuse me. I need some fresh air." She turned to Newt, said, "Would you like a little tour of the gardens? They're quite lovely," didn't wait for a response, and marched away. That was quite a feat, given the fact that she was wearing high-heeled shoes.

Newt just followed her without looking back.

They left the humungous house through the (a?) back entrance, and stepped out into the cold. Luckily, the stars were shining, and there were glimmering flickers of light floating above their heads, between the well-tended trees.

She'd been right: it really was lovely.

He caught up with her. "Slow down a bit, please."

She did. Her breath came out as small clouds of vapour. She hugged her arms to herself. Her face was flushed, though. "God, he's so _horrible_."

They were walking along something of a small, tree-lined avenue that snaked its way through several flower beds and fountains. It was beautiful. All of this belonged to one single family. Didn't seem fair. No, it didn't seem fair at all.

"Aren't you horribly cold?" he said. Even he, who was wearing robes, could feel the chill whispering against his skin.

"It's all right." She found a bench and dropped herself on it, bent down, and massaged her ankles. "Sorry for the unladylike behaviour, but my feet hurt."

He sat down to her left. "I don't care."

"Of course you don't." She sat up straight and smiled a little. "I apologise for the outburst. It's just that…" She trailed off, threw up her gloved hands in exasperation, and shrugged, before closing her eyes, raising her face, and taking a few, soothing breaths. When she looked at him again, her cheeks weren't as red anymore. "I've been a bit tetchy lately."

"Understandable."

She folded her hands on her lap and looked down at them. "Yes, but still: I shouldn't lose my temper like that."

"That's what you call losing your temper?" He was briefly distracted by a couple of snow-white peacocks strutting by. All right, then. Nothing to see here. "Ares was being obnoxious."

"He's obnoxious on his best days, belligerent on his worst – but with that name, it's a small wonder."

"Really? I thought it was the upbringing." The moment the words left his mouth, he realised his faux-pas. Damn it.

She raised her eyebrows at him and then snickered. "You're quite right. We're horrible people, aren't we? The lot of us."

"No-one is completely horrible."

"You think? I'm not so sure." She reached out and briefly touched his shoulder. "Thank you for being here. Apollo thinks I just want to make it up to you for what we did back at Hogwarts, whilst Ares is convinced that I wish to lord my superior morality over him."

He made a face and shifted his weight a bit. The bench was stone-hard and stone-cold. "Ares can get over himself."

"Indeed. As if I were such a paragon of virtue. I don't believe anyone has ever accused me of being too liberal before."

"It should be obvious, you know," he said, and shrugged, "that we shouldn't enslave anyone because it's just wrong. That's not having superior morals. That's just the lowest level of common decency."

"Yes. That's where I'm at, and it's nothing to be proud of."

On that, they could both agree.

A small silence ensued, but it wasn't unpleasant – not much. They weren't by any means great friends, but she was trying to be nice…and unlike Leta, at least she'd apologised. That wasn't a lot, but it wasn't nothing.

He looked up at the twinkling yellow fairy lights in and between the trees. "I can't help but think of that Yule Ball."

"I should've done something to stop that from happening."

"Maybe, but your…your friends were going to do something anyway. They weren't about to let you ruin their fun." When he glanced at her, he saw that she was smiling dryly.

"I almost did just by warning you." She crossed her arms and blew out a heavy breath. "I'm sorry about Leta. She…well, she's not good at facing facts."

The remark made him feel heavy and tired and as ancient as time. "She's good at looking out for herself. That's got to count for something."

"It does."

Another short moment of silence passed.

At length, he said, "Celestia?"

"Hm?"

"Don't marry him. It's wrong." He wasn't even sure why he was saying this, since it wasn't any of his business, but she probably hadn't invited him here just to be friendly. Or maybe it was just important that someone should tell her this, no matter who. It surely would be none of her friends or family. "You know, you _understand_ how hard it is to cope with the consequences of wrong decisions. You don't want this."

For a while, he thought she wasn't going to reply at all.

A minute or so passed before she half-turned to look at him. "I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice. You do this, you'll regret it for the rest of your days."

She sat back again, closed her eyes, breathed. It looked as if she were about to start weeping: her expression was pained, her hands grabbing fistfuls of her dress. Then, she managed to relax, to compose herself. She opened her eyes, looked at him, and smiled. "I know."

He chewed on his lower lip, tried to put some order to the thoughts whirring in his brain. "I told you once that I couldn't absolve you of what you've done, and I can't."

"I know that, too."

"But what I can do is forgive, anyway…like I forgave Alastair and Petronius Flint. You can't change what happened, but you can learn from it. I think you are, but too slowly. Don't do this. I don't wish what you're going through on anyone." That was a speech and a half, coming from him, but he too had always been too bad at saying things how they were. Some words needed to be said out loud. That was a conscious decision, as well. "You're not a bad person. You don't deserve this; no-one does."

Her smile grew warm, genuine. "Perhaps you're right, but it's too late for me now." She rose to her feet and smoothed out her dress. "Shall we go back inside?"

He only nodded and joined her.


	23. Where Fancy Is Free

**Where Fancy Is Free**

 **1920**

 **1** **It was considered a strange little quirk of Celestia's** that was tolerated if not understood, the fact that she started to correspond regularly with Newt Scamander. She suspected he only did this because she was in need of someone who both understood her heartache and who wasn't Alastair, but every time she wrote to him, he responded promptly. There was always also that fateful episode that had got him thrown out of school – something they had in common, something she still felt she should've tried to stop. Alas (and oh, the dramatic thoughts always manifested themselves in Alastair's theatre voice), events had unfolded the way they had. There was no changing them. No-one had ever been allowed to use a time-turner in order to repair a mistake of the past, at least that was how the saying went. One just had to learn to live with one's decisions, as well as their consequences. That was called character growth, Mother always said.

Another thing Celestia and Newt also had in common was Leta Lestrange, at least in a sense. It was amusing, wasn't it? Alastair would be able to find humour in this bizarre situation, at least. Leta used to be Newt's friend and hate the Slytherins. Now, she was tight with all those she'd once claimed to hate, but miles apart from Newt. To say they were estranged would be the understatement of the century. There was an abyss between them as deep at time.

From what Celestia could gather, though, he still had feelings for Leta – complicated ones. She didn't believe it was her place to prod, but some of his letters let shine through not only resentment and blame, but also rueful affection. That was what love was: it either lasted forever or left a lasting impression. In all honesty, she didn't believe that if a person stopped loving another, then it must not have been actual love. No, that wasn't how it worked. Sometimes, people grew apart. Sometimes, they found out things about each other they disliked too much. A lot could happen in the way of stretching love so thin, it ended up puttering out somehow. That didn't mean it had not been love at all.

She believed that this was how Newt felt about Leta. Maybe he still loved her, but it seemed more likely that he'd become so disillusioned, his love had died. It left an impression, though. It changed him. Well, of course it did. After all, love changed everything. It wasn't a weakness. It wasn't sentimentality. It was the force that made the world go 'round. Now, that was something Celestia believed with all of her heart.

The fact that Leta had started a relationship with Newt's older brother Theseus upon the latter's return to England made it all so much more complicated.

Celestia was outside, taking a stroll through the gardens, when one of the owls brought her Newt's latest letter. It was the perfect excuse for her to sit under the two huge apple trees that were in full blossom. Her baby bump was getting too big for her to move around carelessly. She was out of breath all the time, even though the cold, the weariness, and the excruciating bouts of vertigo and nausea had ceased. This was a quiet pregnancy, and despite everything else, she did look forward to meeting her baby.

Oh, the moments she caught herself wishing Alastair were the father were the worst.

Chiding herself internally and making a face, she put those thoughts to rest as well as she could. Life went on. The grief didn't go away or even subside substantially, but as long as she stayed away from Alastair, it was quite manageable.

She tore open the envelope, pulled out the letter, squinted at the sunlight reflecting off the parchment, and read.

 _Hello Celestia,_

 _thank you for your last letter. I'm well. The article on full moon moths I wrote will be enough to credit me the full degree of magizoologist. I'll have more freedom to work with magical creatures that way. It'll be easier for me to get my hands on supplies I need to care for the creatures now that I'm not only just a Hogwarts dropout._

 _My family is in good health. I suppose you've heard that my brother Theseus and Leta are now sweethearts. He's taken over management at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It suits him, this line of work, even though the rest of us are clueless as to where he's got his proclivities from. No matter; he's happy._

 _I will be in London on the 15_ _th_ _of March. If you fancy a chat, I'll meet you there. If you don't, no worries. I won't be offended._

 _How is everything at Malfoy Manor?_

 _Best regards,_

 _your friend Newt._

She had to admit that her first reaction was rather selfish: she was touched. This was the first time he'd called her his friend. Well, they had been exchanging letters for about a year, now, and he'd been at her wedding the past August. As far as she could tell, he'd pretty much got over her involvement in his expulsion, mainly because she was still trying hard to make it up to him. Three months ago, she'd even contacted Headmaster Black to tell him the truth. He'd replied that it had long ceased to matter. Also, none of the others who'd been involved in the incident would ever confirm her version.

Newt's reaction had been an utter lack of surprise, but he'd given her some credit for trying. It had been too little, too late, but better than nothing – better than what Leta had managed.

Celestia read the letter again. It was heart-breaking, wasn't it? How he told her that Leta was now romancing his brother, how he suspected it was mostly because of his brother's profession and social status. For all Celestia knew, this was highly unfair, but she could understand the sentiment. As long as the relationship wasn't the result of coercion, then Newt had no reason to be forgiving toward either of them. No, it wasn't exactly fair and it wasn't reasonable, this reaction. It was, however, human.

The fact that he'd not found it in himself to write anything about Leta except that one mention was telling enough about how hurt he must be.

This was another thing they had in common, wasn't it? Heartache.

She pushed herself to her sore feet, lumbered back inside, laboured upstairs to her room, and sat down at the heavy desk to write a reply.

 _Dearest Newt,_

 _thank you for your kind letter. I am well, as is my family. Congratulations on earning an academic title as prestigious as magizoologist. You are, as far as I know, the most qualified person for the profession._

 _Yes, I have heard the news about your brother. It's quite a prestigious position he's earned himself! You and your parents must be very proud, and for good reason._

 _Soon enough, I will no longer be able to travel, at least for a while. Therefore, your invitation comes at the best possible time, and I accept it gladly. We could meet at that charming Austrian café opposite Madam Malkin's, at three in the afternoon? That would be lovely._

 _I look forward to seeing you in person and wish you all the best._

 _Until then, I remain your loyal friend,_

 _Celestia._

Promptly, she sealed the letter and went to find an owl. It would in all probability be easier to just summon a House Elf, but those poor things were abused enough as it was. This was another thing she hoped she could find a solution to without provoking the Malfoys' ire. It would not do to upset the apple cart, but it also would not do to mistreat House Elves when one was friends with someone like Newt Scamander.

He would argue that all a person needed was a basic level of decency, that how one appeared in front of others mattered nothing.

He'd be right, too.

Old habits, however, were hard to break.

* * *

 **2** **"I suppose that it's become fashionable to be friends with a Scamander,** even if it's not the right one," Apollo said, managing to sound both amused and earnest, as he helped Celestia into her shoes. "Will you tell Newton than his brother, his ex, and the two of us" – He placed his right hand carefully on Celestia's stomach – "three of us will be having dinner on Friday?"

"I will. It would be akin to subterfuge if I didn't," she said, and allowed him to pull her up to her feet.

"But how to breach the subject? How do you say 'listen, four days hence, I'll be dining with your former sweetheart, who coincidentally is now romantically entangled with your much more successful brother'?"

For some reason, she had to snicker. "Exactly like that. He may not like what I have to say, but he'll appreciate candour."

He smiled down at her, cupped her face, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "You're a good person, you know that? Very sweet."

"Thank you," she said, returning the expression. Not that she believed herself to be a paragon of virtue, but she appreciated the sentiment.

It was also a relief that the whole…well, physical aspect of the marriage was something she'd got used to with relative ease. There was no telling him that it would never be like it had been with Alastair, of course, but it was fine. They'd been awkward with each other at first, but had got used to each other over time.

Right now, at the height of her pregnancy, she at least had an excuse to want to sleep alone.

As always when this kind of thought rattled through her head, she felt like slapping herself or, alternatively, jumping into the nearest available pit. This was so silly.

Lucky to be unaware of her musings, he let go of her face and took her hands, instead. "You're honestly fond of him, aren't you?"

She nodded. "He's a decent man. We may not have too much in common, but being his friend elevates me, and he's kind enough to indulge me."

"No, my darling. He's the lucky one." He briefly raised her left hand to his lips. "But the luckiest man on Earth am I."

"Apollo…" She felt heat rising to her face and opted to stupidly stare down at her baby bump. The baby was sleeping. Earlier, he or she had kicked up a right riot – dramatic like only reality could be, as Alastair would say.

"It's true. You never knew, did you? At school? Of course you didn't, and I don't blame you." He put his arms around her and leaned his cheek against her voluminous hairdo. "Luck ended up being on my side, though. I loved you then and I love you now."

Oh, no. Her stomach cramped. A knot formed in her throat. The constant pain in her back, usually dull, flared up. She couldn't help but press her lips together tightly and bite her tongue. What was she supposed to say to that? _What was she supposed to say to that?_ All she could see before her mind's eye was Alastair, windswept and trying so hard not to weep, on the day she'd left him.

"You don't need to say anything," he said, in a quiet tone, as he held her. "I know. I understand. It's like I told you on the night of our engagement: I hope that one day, you'll feel about me the way you've always felt about Alastair."

"But you lied to me," she heard herself saying. "You told me you never loved anyone like that."

"I know. I didn't want to pressure you." Gently, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her away only far enough to be able to look her in the eye. "And I'm not pressuring you now. I don't expect you to cut out your heart and reshape it to fit my wishes. I know you're doing the best you can. In time, you will find happiness with me…with our children. I promise you that."

"Yes," she said, but it sounded hollow in her own ears.

Again, he kissed her. "You should get going. Mustn't keep young Newton waiting."

"No, we mustn't." She briefly took his hand and then turned to leave. Her heart was heavy. For the first time, she felt like crying not for herself or for Alastair, but for Apollo.

His hope was in vain, wasn't it?

How could she let him believe that one day, he might have something that she would never be able to give him? Maybe this was cowardice, too, but she couldn't tell him the truth.

Two broken hearts were quite enough.

* * *

 **3** **She reached London almost an hour too early,** and that was taking in the fact that Newt always arrived late to appointments. That was good. After all, she had to pick up some baby clothes at Madam Malkin's, and it was always nice to window shop. Maybe she'd even find a book she liked, or buy a magazine. It wasn't as if the in-laws crowded her or anything, but being out and about in the big city was always a pleasant experience. The many sights to see, the constant background noise of passers-by having conversations, getting caught in the tide of the crowd: all of this took Celestia's mind off whatever kept her awake at night.

Every time she visited the city, she felt peaceful.

That feeling of cool serenity pervading her abruptly vanished when she all but ran into Leta Lestrange and Theseus Scamander inside the tailor shop.

Leta was showing off obviously new clothes, a low-cut red gown that hugged her figure and suited her incredibly well. She was, after all, a very beautiful woman. Together with the very handsome Theseus, she cut a fine figure. When she saw Celestia walk inside, she cracked a sleek smile. "You weren't supposed to see this until Friday!"

Both Theseus and young Madam Malkin turned to the new arrival.

The latter smiled, saying, "Good day, Misses Malfoy. I'll be with you shortly."

"Thank you." It was so very, very odd for Celestia to be addressed like that. It was as if the truth hadn't quite sunk in yet, despite her advanced pregnancy.

"My, my, Misses Malfoy, you are positively glowing!" Theseus used his usual comradely, chummy tone. He took Celestia's hand and mimicked a kiss.

"You both look very fine together," Celestia said amiably. She didn't know Newt's older brother well, only having met him a handful of times over the past years, but he seemed like a genuinely congenial fellow.

It wasn't his fault, what had transpired between Newt and Leta; he hadn't been in the country during most of it. Still, maybe it wasn't too admirable to start a relationship with a sibling's ex, but life was complicated that way.

Celestia could write an opera about how complicated life could be. "That is a beautiful dress, Leta, and it suits you perfectly."

Leta's smile grew more genuine. "Thank you. Are you here to pick up a new gown, as well?"

"No, nothing for me." She folded her hands atop her stomach.

"So, what do you reckon?" Theseus had a way of smirking and grinning his way through conversations that was so unlike his brother's demeanour, it was hard to see any kind of resemblance. They didn't objectively look like one another either, even though both were about the same height and on the thin side. "Boy or girl?"

"My mother says girl, but I don't know. Neither Apollo nor I care, though. We just want the baby to be healthy."

"We all want that," he said warmly. "It's good that you're happy. I heard about the whole Fawley thing-"

Leta slapped his arm. " _Theseus!_ "

He frowned at her. "What?"

Celestia raised her hands. "It's quite all right, Leta, and thank you – both of you. I'm glad you two found happiness together, as well."

They exchanged a look that was so contented, so intimate, it was a little difficult to witness.

She couldn't help but think of Newt, of the last letter he'd sent her.

But such was the nature of love, wasn't it? Unpredictable and devastating.

* * *

 **4** **Due to her own fault, she arrived at the café a little late and found Newt inside,** reading a tattered little book with a horrendously ugly blue monster drawn on the cover. That rang a bell. Hadn't she seen this thing at some point? During their time together at Hogwarts? Maybe. Probably. Neither she, nor anyone who wasn't him had ever cared much about fantastic beasts.

He was really focussed on his reading, frowning a little into the book. The cup of tea in front of him was cooling, ignored.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, and took a seat, ignoring the usual protocol, which required him to invite her to sit.

A little startled, he looked up. He put the book into the briefcase by his feet. "It's not a problem. I was occupied." He motioned about. "It's nice, this place. I've never been here before."

She raised a hand to greet the proprietor, who already knew what she'd order, and smiled. "I used to come here all the time with my sister, when she was still around."

Good gracious, that sounded as if Nocturna had died. No, the wayward Prewett sibling was just somewhere in Eastern Europe, cavorting with a bunch of dark wizards with dubious intent – intent, it seemed, that most people Celestia knew sympathised with.

She herself wasn't so sure, but none of these political matters were her problem, anyway, were they? No. It was best to keep out of such complicating, world-changing matters. There was a matter, however, she felt she needed to discuss with him, loath as she was to breach the subject. "Listen, Newt, there's something I must tell you."

This was the first time he looked her in the eye. "About your dinner with my brother and Leta?"

For a few seconds, she just stared at him, unable to think of a proper reply. "I…I was hoping you'd…you know." She looked down at her hands. "That you'd hear it from me."

He took his sweet time to reply, as well. "Nice of you to come all the way here to tell me."

"It's the least I could do." Her tea arrived. She smiled at the waiter, who absconded just as quickly as he'd approached the table. "I'm sorry." She almost told him that she knew exactly how painful this kind of situation was, but this wasn't about her. That, at least, was a lesson she'd learned over the years: Celestia Prewett was not the centre of the universe, and the universe did not revolve around her precious little feelings.

"Thanks, anyway." He pressed the knuckles of his right hand to his lips and discreetly cleared his throat. "You're decent, as far as friends go."

That made her smile. "I'm happy to oblige."


	24. Eyes I Dare Not Meet in Dreams

**Eyes I Dare Not Meet In Dreams**

 **1923**

 **1** **For the most part, life just went on as it always had.** The world revolved around the sun, seasons changed, people died, babies were born, and in the grand scheme of things, no-one cared for the individual drama of self-important witches and wizards. Newt himself had, over the past few years, had plenty of time to contemplate his own vanity. Alas, as the overly theatrical interjection went. There was nothing quite like disappointment to teach a person humility.

For three years now, his brother Theseus had been entertaining a relationship with Leta, and as much as Newt tried, it was damn near impossible to completely avoid them and their bubbly happiness. He had to admit, loath as he was, that those two were a match made in heaven. They were in love. They adored each other. They deliberately fed each other's egos and made no compunctions about it. In fact, they were such a perfect, glamorous, harmonious couple, it was difficult to imagine that she had ever shown even the slightest romantic interest in Theseus's awkward, shy, nigh-on anti-social little brother.

Truth be told, Newt could hardly believe it, himself, these days.

It hurt to even ponder this, but Leta had probably never felt about him the way Newt had once felt about her. He had to admit to himself that he'd been in love with her, but that the sentiment had been one-sided. It wasn't as if he believed that she'd never been fond of him. In all probability, the friendship they'd shared had meant something to her. The problem was not just her inability to truly see anyone except for herself. The real problem was that he had loved her and she had not loved him in return. This was nobody's fault and that was, in the end, the most infuriating aspect of it all. No-one could make themselves love someone that they didn't. No-one could make themselves stop loving, for that matter. It either happened or it didn't.

Leta had never been in love with him – not really.

At least he wasn't in love with her, anymore. There was some lingering regret, as well as wounded pride, but he didn't think that this was love. It was better this way, wasn't it? Pining after someone one couldn't be with was horrible.

One only had to look at Celestia Malfoy for proof.

Seriously, Newt had no idea how she managed to get by every day like that. It was so damn obvious that she didn't love her husband one iota. Their daughter had done nothing to improve matters, which came as no surprise to anyone. Having a baby never fixed a relationship where one person loved and the other did not.

Newt wasn't the type to stand on a hill and proclaim his feelings to the howling winds or whatever, but inside, he was glad not to be entangled in any sort of romantic mess. His parents sometimes teased him about his loner status, but it was good-natured teasing. After all, he was happy the way he was; he had an incredibly exciting project ahead of himself, which was taking up most of his time and energy. Besides, he didn't worry about his lack of a love life. If something should end up happening down the road, fine – if not, then it hadn't been meant to be. No problem.

On this beautiful, sunny spring morning, he had better things to do than ponder the so-called matters of the heart. He was in Hastings, at the busy pier, about to meet a man who could give him access to a cave where scientists had recently found the skeleton of a _Hibernus Horridus_.

It was hardly eleven o'clock, but the place was positively buzzing with activity. Muggle families were everywhere, enjoying the first sunny day in what felt like months. Ragtime music was playing from somewhere. There was laughter in the air, singing, chattering, the cries of seagulls, the murmur of the sea. The air smelled fresh and humid and of seagrass and fish. A chilly breeze was blowing, but it felt refreshing. All in all, this was a fine morning. There was no reason to complain.

Then again, there hardly ever was.

He leaned against the railing, closed his eyes, and raised his face to the sun.

"Scamander! There you are!"

The sound of that familiar voice immediately dragged Newt back into reality. He felt a pang in his stomach. When he opened his eyes, he saw Alastair Fawley standing right in front of him, smiling sunnily. "You?"

"Good morning to you, too, old chum," Alastair said, and jovially slapped Newt's upper left arm. He was even skinnier than Newt remembered him being – skinnier and paler. His short, dark hair looked brittle. He had dark rings under his eyes.

"Are you all right?" The question was out before Newt realised what the hell he was doing.

"I look sick, do I?" Alastair's smile morphed into a wry little smirk. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shrugged. "I'm not, but thanks for asking. I just haven't been sleeping well." He looked about himself. "That's a lot of Muggles, eh? All out for the sun, just like us."

"Yes. It's almost like they're people, isn't it?"

Alastair snickered throatily at that. "Incredible, I know. So, Scamander, before you start plotting your escape: I'm the person you're waiting for…about the ice monster thing."

Ice monster thing? Hm. "I kind of figured." This was not going to be fun.

Luckily, Alastair seemed unperturbed by Newt's obvious lack of enthusiasm. "For want of a personal life – my lady was taken from me and I told all my former friends to go fuck themselves or each other; makes no difference to me – I've taken up archaeology. When I stumbled into this damp, smelling cave and then stumbled onto some really freaky bones, I thought to myself: 'I must summon Scamander! He'll love traipsing around this place, even if he doesn't love the company'."

"Very considerate."

"I know, right?" The ludicrously sunny expression made way for something more solemn, more honest, and infinitely more bearable. "One thing we have in common, eh? We're both social outcasts by our own design."

Not that Newt would describe himself as an outcast, per se, but Alastair had a bit of a point. Besides, there was no good reason to be hostile toward the man – not anymore. "That's probably true."

An awkward moment of silence crept by.

Finally, Alastair said, "You talk to her on a regular basis, don't you?" quietly, abashedly, almost as if he were embarrassed to show vulnerability to anyone.

"Yes." There was no need to ask who was meant.

"How is she?"

Merlin's beard. The look on Alastair's face was so miserable yet hopeful, Newt briefly pondered just lying or even changing the subject. That wouldn't be right, though. Lies and secrets and conspiracies had brought this whole disaster into being. He would not contribute to it if he could help it. "She's trying to cope, but it's not working out so well."

Alastair flinched a little, almost as if Newt had slapped him. He scoffed. "Well, at least you're honest." Looking up into the sky, he blew out a heavy breath. "I haven't talked to her in years – figured it'd be better this way, you know. Less painful. She's got a kid and everything. I'm trying to have a life outside of work. Still, we're both ridiculously unhappy, as it seems. Life isn't fair."

On one hand, this was actually sort of noble: Alastair was staying away from Celestia because he wanted her to be happy. On the other hand, it did feel like he was wallowing in the amazingness that was his sacrifice, that he needed everyone to constantly be reminded of the fact that he was a man in pain, damn it!

Newt imagined that this attitude might get tiring after a day or two, even for people who actually liked Alastair. It wasn't any of his business, but somehow, he found himself dragged into the quagmire, anyway, despite himself. "No, it's not, but you can either actually do something about it, or you can let it go."

"My, my, Scamander," Alastair said, locked eyes with Newt again, and whistled lowly. "Are you not so subtly telling me that I should feel sorry for myself on my own time and that I can either get my shit together, or just shut up, already?" He waited, but no reply came. "All right, all right. I'll stop." He briefly raised his hands in a defensive manner. "Before we set out to do what we met for, just let me ask you one thing…since you're Celestia's only non-sycophantic friend these days."

Oh, for heaven's sake. Why couldn't these pretentious people settle their issues like everyone else? Why did everything always have to be this ridiculously dramatic within their circles? Whatever had happened to actually clearing things up face to face?

But then, Newt thought of Celestia, who was doing her best to be happy and cheerful despite failing at it to a pitiable degree. He tensed up a bit, but nodded nonetheless. "Fine."

"Fine," Alastair echoed, and shook his head, presumably at himself. It didn't feel like he was being arrogant and smug, in any case. "Do you still think it would be best for Celestia and me to send them all to hell and elope, even after all that's passed?"

"Yes." He didn't even have to think about it. "She loves her daughter, but not her husband. What's the point of it all if you're unhappy all the time?"

"What's the point, indeed." Alastair breathed in deeply, then smiled again. It looked honestly friendly. "Come on, then, mate. Let's go frolic in dark, lonely caves – just the two of us." He put an arm around Newt's shoulders and started steering him away.

Newt allowed this patiently. After all, he was here to do scientific research. For that sake, he could put up with a little obnoxious posturing.

* * *

 **2** **It was a lucky thing that Alastair stopped miming the brooding,** pale, selflessly suffering romantic hero once they cleared Muggle Hastings and Apparated to his family's estate in the country. It wasn't quite clear where the property was located, but judging by the landscape, it must be somewhere in Kent. Aristocratic folk like the Fawleys didn't have much in terms of local accents, meaning that placing them geographically based on the English they spoke was pretty much impossible. They all sounded like high-class people from the South, be they from Hastings, Reading, Birmingham, Liverpool, London, or Newcastle. It made no difference.

Once they materialised on a windswept meadow, Alastair didn't take him toward the big house in the distance, but toward a small, but lovely patch of trees that were busy growing light-green, fresh buds on their previously empty branches. Springtime was always lovely, especially though after a long, bleary, grey winter.

"It's not so much a cave, you see," Alastair all but shouted over his shoulder. "It was artificially dug out by the beast, I recon. Don't worry, though: the experts have made it safe. It won't collapse on our heads."

Newt followed him, light-footed, relishing the fresh air, the green and sweet smells of spring flowers, the sunshine on his face. "Why did you call me if you already have experts?"

Alastair cast him an impish little smile. "Well, the experts were there to determine the dangers of an unexplored cave. They were also supposed to check whether there was anything worth selling in there. Nobody cares for some old bones they can't crush up and sell as an aphrodisiac, it seems."

"Nobody but me."

"Precisely. This old fellow from university such-and-such told us that the bones belong to some ice-spitting monster thing, but that they are worthless. That's when I thought, 'why not tell my good friend Newton? He'll be interested'."

"I suppose my friendship with Celestia had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, damned be the extraordinary sharpness of your mind, o formidable foe! My nefarious agenda has been laid bare, unto the daylight, for all the world to see and marvel!" Alastair shook one fist at the sky. "Alas! 'Tis a calamity."

They reached the edge of the trees.

From there, Newt could see the digging site, flanked by a number of tents and a bunch of wizards and witches that looked very busy examining soil samples. There were no magical creatures to be seen anywhere. Unwittingly, he thought of the bundimun Leta had used to poison Alastair with. "You should be careful. Your allergic reaction to a single bundimun almost killed you once."

"We tested the site. None of those sewer fungus things about. I'll be fine." He patted Newt's shoulder. "Thanks for the concern, sweetie. Now, why don't we take a look at those bones and talk shop?" Without further ado, he led Newt into a yellow tent that looked tiny on the outside, but was of course much larger on the inside.

In there, a partial skeleton had been arranged atop a long wooden table. The skull, ribs, and a few of the thigh bones, as well as two claws were intact. The bones were white, yet seemed to have some sort of blueish shimmer about them.

"So," Alastair said, and motioned at the table. "Voila! What do you think?"

Newt approached the table slowly, with reverence. The closer he got, the colder the air felt. By the time he was close enough to touch the bones, his breath was coming out in small clouds of vapour. His skin pebbled with gooseflesh. His teeth gnashed together. He hugged his arms to himself. "Extraordinary."

"Pretty much, yes. This thing must have died many years ago. My family's been here for a century. We would've noticed a gigantic ice monster burrowing its way into our backyard."

"You would've. They're impossible to miss whilst above ground, but once they bury themselves in order to hibernate, it's the exact opposite."

"You'd think the whole place would be frozen up when one of these things is alive, judging by how cold their dead bones are," Alastair said, rubbing at his upper arms. He took a few healthy steps back and visibly relaxed. "Ah, much better. I don't much care for the cold. I only endured the snow in Franconia for Tia's sake."

"They're usually not this cold when they're alive and not in danger." Newt reached out, but couldn't quite bring himself to touch any of the shimmering bones, instead letting his fingertips hover over one of the claws before crossing his arms again. He harrumphed, then turned to Alastair. "Just outside, you said we should talk shop. Talk shop, then. What do you want?"

"Not much patience for chit-chat, eh?" Alastair sighed theatrically. "All right. Have it your way. You see, Scamander, I haven't just been getting on _your_ nerves with my perpetual gloominess. Don't think I haven't noticed." He jabbed a finger at Newt, squinting slightly. Then, he snickered. "Well, here goes: back then, I thought it would hurt her more if I asked her not to leave me, to follow her heart. You didn't believe so. Now, you tell me that she's unhappy; I know I am. What I want is simple: I want her back. I'm tired of being miserable."

"What do you need me for?"

"I need you to get her to see me." Alastair stepped up to Newt and grabbed him by the upper arms. "Trick her if you must. I just need to talk to her face to face, just the two of us."

"In exchange for these bones, I presume?"

A smile lit up Alastair's sharp-angled features. There was an almost feverish shine in his eyes. "Oh, much more than that. I've done my homework, you see. I know that you plan on travelling the globe, cataloguing magical creatures so you can write a book about how to care for them. I know how much that means to you."

Newt's instinct was to back away, but in all honesty, he was just too baffled to react in any meaningful way. "So what?"

"So what, I can only imagine how much money an enterprise as ambitious as yours costs. I know for a fact that your family is not poor by any means, but that you don't have _that_ much spare change."

It…well. Oh. How the hell was he supposed to react to that? How…his mind was drawing a blank. He blinked at Alastair, who was still grabbing his arms with surprising strength. "Are you offering to pay me so I'll arrange a meeting between you and Celestia?" He frowned. "I honestly don't know if this is insulting or not."

That was when Alastair let go. He gave Newt a puzzled look. "Why would…no. No, no, no. Scamander, you're getting this all wrong. I'm not hiring you. I'm saying that I want to help you. I do need you to talk to her for me, but…" he trailed off, ran his fingers through his hair, and threw up his hands, looking so helpless, it was a little painful to watch. "I'm asking you to help me because I know you're the only one who understands. I'll sponsor your trip regardless, because I owe you a debt-"

"You don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do. I do. But let's ignore that for a moment. I need your help. I" – He shook his head, bit his lower lip, and sucked on his teeth – "I can't get anywhere near Malfoy Manor. I can't send an owl. I can't have her family or friends send a message. She doesn't even leave the estate anymore." The look he gave Newt was wretched. His eyes were bloodshot. He threw up his hands. "I can't do this anymore, Scamander. Help me. _Please_." To Newt's growing discomfort, he seemed two seconds away from bursting into tears.

Newt told himself to stop being an infant. This wasn't about his discomfort.

Alastair was obviously at the end of his rope.

No matter how Newt felt about him personally, he couldn't ignore that kind of desperate plea. He hadn't been able to decline Celestia's invitation to hr engagement party, either, and for the same reason. "I would never do this for money."

"I know. You're a really decent chap, you are. I know that." He wiped at his eyes, his mouth, his chin with his right, put his left to his waist. "I apologise for giving the impression that I wanted to pay you for doing me a favour. Let's leave the matter of my debt to you to another time, if you don't feel comfortable talking about it now. Whatever else, you have unlimited access to these bones and to the excavation site, all right? Right." He crossed his arms and nodded, more to himself than to Newt. "Just…get her out of Malfoy Manor. I need to talk to her, face to face. Please."

For a couple of seconds, Newt battled the ugly impulse to ask Alastair whether saying the magic word hurt at all. Thankfully, his sense of decency won out over the darker part of his personality. "I'll help you."

Alastair drew in a sharp, shaky breath, closed his eyes for a moment, let his arms hang loosely by his sides, and balled his hands into fists a few times. When he looked at Newt again, he was halfway composed, though his eyes were still bloodshot and there were reddish blotches on his pasty, hollow cheeks. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Well, no-one had ever told him to get involved, and yet, here he was, involved. That was why he preferred to stay away from people.

* * *

 **3** **When Celestia read Newt's letter,** for the first time in months, she actually felt like she had something to look forward to. It was unfair, she knew it, but things had become so…oh, so dull, so grey, so _lifeless_. It was horrible to feel this way, and she knew it. She did her best to trample it down, to ignore it, to be cheery for her little girl, Artemis. The poor little thing did not deserve a mother this melancholic, this self-absorbed. Artemis was a happy, sweet, giggly child who'd grow up into an extraordinary witch; Celestia was sure about that. Life was good. There was no reason to complain. She lived in a beautiful house with a garden she could tend to even though there was personnel to do it all. There was a huge library filled with more books than she'd be able to read in a decade. Her in-laws were nice to her – all except for Ares, who did his best to ignore her (and vice versa). Her husband loved her. Her friends were great. All was well, and yet…

…and yet.

For so long, she had found herself utterly unable to feel any kind of contentment. She'd got used to being beyond joy, but quiet contentment? That was gone, too.

What was left? Sadness? Regret? Resignation?

Honestly, she couldn't even feel that anymore. Now, if it was all gone, all of it, then how could she even look herself in the mirror anymore? This marriage was always going to be something she wouldn't want; that much was clear. But this? Honestly, she didn't know how to keep trudging on under these circumstances.

Here was to hoping she could find the strength to hold on just a bit longer, until things got better. They'd get better at some point. They had to.

That was why she felt, actually felt something break through the stupor when she read Newt's latest letter.

He wanted to know whether she'd like to visit his home, see the Hippogriffs, get a change of scenery at least for one afternoon. Immediately, she knew that her answer would be yes. Apollo wouldn't mind. To him, Newt posed no threat, and if visiting this non-threat would cheer her up, then he would have nothing to object. He was a good husband, after all. He wanted her to be happy. He loved her.

She sat down at her desk and wrote a letter to Newt. Yes, she'd be happy to visit him. Yes, she'd be there at his earliest convenience.

Two days after that, another letter came, asking her to pack a holdall so she could stay overnight.

The day after that, she left Malfoy Manor for the first time since the past winter.

 **4** **Since Newt had asked her to use the Floo Network,** she'd chosen to wear a grey coat over her clothes, not wanting anything to get sooty. A bit of soot was always to be expected on one's face, in one's hair, but it wasn't tragic. The Floo Network wasn't made to transport people to fancy dances in ballrooms, after all. It was a practical, quick way to travel for no-nonsense people who didn't fuss too much over appearances.

So of course, she used it as little as possible.

Nocturna had always teased Celestia every time the latter had whined about getting dirty when stepping out of a fireplace.

Well, everyone had different priorities.

The fireplace in question was located in a large, tiled, cosy-looking kitchen.

Gingerly, Celestia stepped outside, her shoes clacking on the floor.

Newt was already waiting for her. It seemed as if he were trying to smile, but failing. He wasn't quite looking her in the eye. His face was a little flushed. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me." She stepped up to him and placed a kiss on his cheek, before looking at her feet and behind herself. "I'm not…not spreading soot all over your floor, I hope?"

"No. Don't worry about it." He opened his mouth, closed it again, exhaled deeply, scratched the bridge of his nose, and said, "There's something in the living room that you need to see." He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and harrumphed. "Sorry I couldn't tell you before."

There was a cold pang in her stomach. She felt cold. "Did…did something happen?"

"Just follow me, please." This time, he managed to smile a little, even though he looked as if this were the most awkward and uncomfortable situation he'd ever been in. "It's all right. You'll see."

This was odd. Still, she followed him out of the kitchen, through a narrow hallway that was lovingly decorated with framed family photographs, past a spiral staircase, and into a lovely living room. Its walls were covered in bookshelves. A dark-red sofa and a couple of armchairs were set facing a fireplace. The air smelled of wood and books and something like lavender. It was lovely.

All of this, Celestia registered, but her real attention was focussed on the person standing next to a window that overlooked the Hippogriff pens. She stopped short just beyond the doorframe. Her breath hitched in her constricted throat. Her legs were rubbery. Had the Earth stopped spinning? She saw stars. "Alley."

He looked…oh, oh dear, he looked so _beautiful_ – thinner and paler than she remembered him, but what difference did that make? This was Alastair. "Tia." The look on his face was not expectant or happy. It was relieved. He looked as if he'd been in pain up until this very moment.

The lethargy broke. She half ran, half stumbled toward him.

They met halfway, put their arms around each other, held each other as tightly as possible.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He was squeezing her almost to the point of pain, raining kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

"No, I'm sorry. Oh, dear. Oh, my dear." She raked her fingers through his hair, cupped his face, kissed him (oh finally, finally, _finally_ ), hugged him around his waist again, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Oh, God. Oh, Alley. I missed you so much – so much. My darling. My darling."

He put his arms around her again and leaned his cheek against her hair. "I was wrong, Tia. I was so wrong. I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay with me. To hell with your family. To hell with all of it. If you love me, then love me." Again, his grip tightened, as if he were afraid she might Apparate away at any moment. "Please don't leave me again."

"I won't," she said quietly, closing her eyes, and breathing in the scent of his skin she'd missed so much. Briefly, she wondered where Newt had scampered off to. She'd need to thank him. In fact, she didn't think she'd ever had a friend quite as amazing as him.

"You won't?" And there it was, right in Alastair's voice: hope.

She shut her eyes tighter, but it wouldn't make any difference, would it? Facing him. Looking into his eyes. No, she'd already made her decision. "I won't. I _can't_." There was no going back anymore. If there was one thing she knew with absolute, unshakeable certainty, it was that.


	25. In the Bleak Midwinter

**In the Bleak Midwinter**

 **1924**

 **1** _**Actions have consequences, Celestia.**_ _You cannot betray your entire family and expect everyone to kowtow to your caprices. Actions have consequences, Celestia. You made a promise. You broke your promise. You've betrayed us all on a whim. Actions have consequences, Celestia._

 _Actions have consequences._

Those words, those voices – Mother, Father, Ares, the parents-in-law – echoed in Celestia's mind every day, every time she missed the daughter she was not allowed to visit. This had been the biggest cruelty of all, hadn't it? That they had taken Artemis away from her. She'd known that she wouldn't be allowed to take her baby with her to the Fawleys', but this? No, she hadn't expected such a lack of sympathy from her own family.

Alastair had warned her.

She knew that if Nocturna were around to witness any of this, she'd have done the same. In fact, Nocturna had for once replied to one of Celestia's letters just to voice her opinion in a rather 'told you so' fashion. Not that she meant it like that, but it was rather typical of her. She'd written:

 _I'm surprised and delighted you had the spine to leave that Malfoy brat and follow your heart. Good on you, little sister, but don't expect our parents to understand. They'll skewer you, nice and slow. Shouldn't have caved to their silly political machinations. Do you see it now? Of course you do. You should leave England altogether._

That had been all Nocturna had had to say on that matter – on any matter.

Celestia had considered burning the strip of parchment, but had ended up storing it in the jewel box Alastair's mother had given her when she'd moved in. Well, of course she had. She might be prone to dramatic proclamations during moments of emotional distress, but in the end, she always backed down…

…until she'd actually left Apollo – something nobody had believed she'd be capable of doing, including herself.

Maybe that was why the only thing Apollo had done about it was to take her daughter from her: to get her to come back.

They'd hurt each other. That much was a fact.

She didn't think she was in any position to hate him, but she did it anyway.

Actions had consequences, didn't they? Oh yes, they did.

Celestia had lost her whole family. It was only her daughter that she wanted to miss.

A year and a half had gone by. None of it made losing Artemis any easier, but other than had been the case during her marriage, now she actually felt something. It wasn't all sunshine and daisies, of course. Sometimes, she has happy. Sometimes, she was sad. Sometimes, she and Alastair argued and she wanted to toss him out the nearest window.

Mostly, though, the only time she'd been happier than now had been during those three years in Franconia.

In a way, she had Newt to thank for this turn of events.

Poor Newt. He was a good person and an even better friend, even when he didn't feel particularly inclined to get mixed up in others' melodrama. He'd still done it, though, hadn't he? He'd shown up at Celestia's engagement party despite not liking any of the guests. He'd replied every time she'd written him. He'd met up with her when she'd felt the walls closing in. He'd arranged a meeting between her and Alastair when Alastair had asked him to.

Now, he didn't want to take Alastair's money.

It wasn't as if Celestia didn't understand; she did. After all, people like her, like Alastair, like any of their peers rarely did anything kind without an agenda. During their Hogwarts days, they'd all been pretty horrible not just to Newt personally, but to everyone who wasn't a Slytherin in general. Yes, they'd been kids, and kids were often terrible, especially in collectives, but in the end, that was a poor excuse. Plenty of the other pupils had been kind, decent, and pleasant. Even in their own House, there'd been social outcasts a-plenty, to put it in purple prose: people who didn't fit in, people who were too shy or sweet, people who socialised a lot with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, people who lamented not having been studious enough to be sorted into Ravenclaw.

Then, there'd been people like Celestia, who'd felt uncomfortable at all the bullying, but who'd been too craven to actually do something about it.

The fact was, nobody was perfect. Everyone messed up. They all made mistakes.

Still, judging by what had happened in the past, nobody could really blame Newt for distrusting Alastair and doubting his good intentions.

Celestia, though, knew that Alastair just felt awfully guilty for his part in the events that had resulted in Newt's expulsion. Therefore, she'd waited until Newt, who'd spent some time in the enchanted woods of Franconia, Bavaria, and East Prussia, was back in England. She invited him to come visit the now more-or-less abandoned excavation site on the Fawley estate, where the _Hibernus Horridus_ bones were being kept despite Alastair's parents' objections.

They believed that their son was wasting resources and time due to foolish feelings of guilt toward someone who didn't deserve it.

Alastair, however, wouldn't budge. He argued that he needed to do one truly good deed in his life, to make up for all the nastiness he'd already inflicted on the world.

Of course, Newt wrote back that he'd stop by, even though he was very busy these days and preparing to travel again soon.

* * *

 **2** **Alastair had wanted to be there to talk sense into Newt,** but Celestia had convinced him otherwise. In all probability, Newt was going to say no anyway, but if Alastair were there to pester him, he'd decline financial help for sure. Nobody liked being crowded and pressured into doing anything, even if it was accepting a gift.

It wasn't even quite winter yet, but for several months now, it had been uncharacteristically cold. There wasn't any snow, but the sky had been covered by thick, grey clouds for a fortnight. A biting wind swept across the meadow where Celestia waited for her friend. She pulled her coat closer around her body. Maybe she should have chosen the thicker one, but this coat was brand new and she loved the way she looked in it. Not the smartest course of action, was it? Ever? To choose fashion over practicality? Every time she pulled a number like this on herself – wearing weather-inappropriate clothing or uncomfortable shoes – she vowed never to be this shallow and silly again. It never lasted. She guessed she was just a little stupid that way.

A little late, but not rudely so, Newt Apparated right in front of her. He looked a little different – less pale, for one. That was what happened if one spent a lot of time in the outdoors. When he saw her, he even smiled a little, before he fumbled with his hand-knit Hufflepuff scarf, which was almost blown away by the wind.

As usual, she kissed him on the cheek before saying, "Thank you for being here. You look well."

"Thanks. You look…cold."

That made her laugh. "How very perceptive of you."

"One of my many talents," he replied, good-natured, and looked about. "No Alastair?"

"Oh, he's inside. He thinks I don't know this, but he absolutely hates the cold. It's the thing he hates most in the world, I believe." Well, that and Apollo, but there was no need to bore poor Newt even more with her family crises than she was already going to.

"You get used to it, you know…the cold."

"Very true. Now, how about we get out of the wind?"

When he only nodded, she led him into the small patch of trees. There was no wind in there; magic kept the weather from destroying the site. Neither, wind, rain, nor snow or any of the elements could touch the tents, whilst the trees themselves were exempt from the spell. The tent with the _Hibernus_ skeleton was still there, of course, untouched.

"I'm surprised this is all still here," he told her, as they went inside the tent.

"Alastair promised you he'd keep it all untouched, didn't he?" She stepped up to the table with the bones displayed on them. "They're still cold."

"If my book is right, they'll stay that way for centuries."

A small silence ensued.

At length, he said, "I know why you asked me here."

"And you're going to tell me that your answer is still no?" She turned around to him. There was no wind in here, but the air was frightfully icy. In a few minutes, her teeth would start chattering.

He shrugged. "I can get by without his money. Tell him he doesn't owe me anything."

"You'll get by, but won't it be easier to travel the world with some extra change in your pocket – no strings attached?"

His expression turned doubtful. "Are there really no strings attached? Will he just give me money, no questions asked, and let me use it to do my research, or will demands for certain types of research come down the line? I will not catalogue magical creatures just so people can know how to use them better for profit – or worse, find them and kill them."

"I know – so does Alastair." She stepped up to him, stopping at arm's length. Even though she was wearing comfortable boots this time, she could feel warmth sapping from her feet into the earth. Shivering, she hugged her arms to herself. "Listen, Newt. I know you don't need us. I know you don't want more contact with people like us than necessary. I know that you don't trust us, either."

"I trust your intentions – yours." He briefly looked down at his feet, before not quite making eye-contact again.

That was sweet, wasn't it? She couldn't help but be touched by his assessment. "I don't blame you for mistrusting Alastair. He's done some awful things. The reality is, however, that he feels sorry for his past conduct. He wants to make up for it. Now, it's not your responsibility to help him feel better about himself. You don't owe him anything. Still, I'm asking you to just take the money he's offering you – as a personal favour to me. You don't even have to talk to him, and he'll never ask any questions about the money once it leaves his hands. He knows you're a good man and that you'll never do something questionable with it." She smiled a little, despite being chilled to the bone. "Even if, he wouldn't ask questions. He's turned a new leaf. He's spending a lot of money for charity. He isn't talking to any of our old friends. You'd be doing us such a great favour by accepting his offer."

Newt mulled this over for a moment in silence. He kept glancing at the _Hibernus_ skeleton. Finally, he locked eyes with her again and nodded. "All right."

Her smile broadened. "Thank you. You have no idea what a relief this-"

The earth shook. On the table, the _Hibernus_ bones jumped and jumbled. Outside, the trees creaked and ground.

Celestia lost her footing and fell heavily on her side, crying out as pain shot through her arm, her shoulder, her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. She gasped for air.

The tremors got worse.

Eyes watering, Celestia tried to sit up straight, but collapsed when her left arm couldn't hold her weight. Broken bone!

"You're hurt!" Newt skidded over, dropped on his knees, pointed his wand at her arm, and said something she couldn't understand; a deep grumbling cry drowned his voice out. Blue light shot from his wand and hit her elbow.

The ground shook worse than ever.

Agony exploded in her arm. There was a snapping sound as the bones readjusted themselves. She dropped herself on the earth again, panting, seeing stars.

"Can you move your arm again?" He had to shout to make himself heard.

What…what the hell was that _noise_? It sounded like distorted, low-pitched screaming, growling – a sound of pain and fury, as if the earth beneath them were rioting.

She raised her arm, flexed her fingers, pushed herself into an upright position. "Yes. Thank you."

"Come on!" He jumped to his feet, took her hand, pulled her up.

She tripped on her skirt, ripped it, clung to him for purchase. " _What's happening?_ "

"I don't-" The rest of his words got lost in a distorted, piercing scream so primordial, so agonised, it was unbearable to listen to.

Pressing her fists to her ears, she screamed, but could hear nothing but that awful shriek that seemed to be everywhere at once, pervading every cell in her body, reverberating in her skull.

That was when the air got hot – so hot that it became almost impossible to breathe.

Newt's eyes grew wide. All colour drained from his face. "Oh, no." He spun around and tried to run outside, but only managed to stumble, barely staying on his feet.

As well as she could, Celestia followed. She made it outside without falling again, but when she saw what was happening, she wished she hadn't.

Through the line of trees, she saw it running toward the big house: a horrible, misshapen, white, scaly, screaming monster. Its claws were ripping wounds into the earth. The ground trembled. Grass scorched and died wherever it stepped. The farther it got away, the colder the air got again.

Celestia felt as if caught in a nightmare. "Oh, God. Alastair." She broke into a run, unable to think, barely registering her thundering heart, her cramping stomach, the drying sweat on her face, the icy cold.

"Wait! No!" Newt caught up easily with her, grabbed her, spun her around. His eyes were huge, but he was otherwise calm. "Don't!"

"It'll kill them! It'll-"

"Think, Celestia! Think! Running over there blindly in a panic won't help! Let _me_ go and-"

"I don't _care!_ " She Apparated onto the threshold without waiting for a reply.

It was horrible. The door had been simply ripped out of the wall and tossed aside. The front yard was devastated: flower beds, trees, the lawn, benches, even the fountain. They were all broken, scorched black, dead and gone. The air was first hot as furnace, then freezing cold, knocking the air right out of Celestia's lungs.

The worst part, however, was the silence.

To her left, Newt materialised, wand in hand.

She paid him no heed. Her heart raced. Her head pounded. Every breath she drew burned in her lungs. It was so, so cold. Forcing herself to move, she stepped inside. Everything was frozen – everything. The walls, the broken furniture, the turned-over bookcases: it was all covered in a sheet of blueish ice. In the corner lay, somehow shrunken and curled in on itself, the monster. The ice covering its body was thickest here, seeming to shimmer even without a direct source of light to illuminate it.

Celestia didn't care about the dead thing, though. Lying on the floor, wands in hand, were the ice-covered, lifeless bodies of Alastair and his parents. She exhaled sharply. Her legs gave. She fell to her knees next to Alastair, who was on his back, dark eyes wide open. Out of an instinct, she reached out, but didn't touch him. What if touching him made it worse? _Could_ this get any worse? This wasn't real. None of this was happening. It didn't feel real.

"They're not dead."

"What?" She couldn't take her eyes off Alastair's. Only a few minutes ago, he'd been fine. Now…oh, this couldn't be happening. It couldn't.

"Listen to me, Celestia: they're not dead. The _Hibernus_ isn't, either."

She could hear Newt's steps crunch on the frozen floor boards – first away from her, then toward her.

He hunkered down right in front of her. "We can save them. I know we can."

" _How?_ " Was she going to be ill? Felt like that. Felt like it was happening to someone else, as well. Part of her wanted to scream until she blacked out.

Newt's jaw was set. His eyes were wide. There was a slight flush of colour on his cheeks. "The _Hibernus_ probably got hit with lethal force. It projected its heart to some far away location, where it'll survive for a about a year; so will the Fawleys. If we can find this frozen heart, then we'll be able to save them all."

For a few seconds, she just stared at him. "We?"

"Yes. I'll help you. We'll find it. We can save all of them."

"And…leave them here, like this? Trapped in ice? Newt, I can't-"

"Nothing can break or melt the ice – not for another year." He got up to his feet again and held out his hand. "Let's go."

Without another look at Alastair – she didn't think she'd manage to leave otherwise – she took the offered hand and let Newt help her up. "Yes. Let's go…but where do we start?"

"There are clues we can follow…my book. I need to get my book. It's all a bit of a mystery – a puzzle, more like, that we need to put together. I know we'll manage." He put his wand away into his coat pocket and wiped some of his messy hair from his forehead. "It won't be easy, though. I got to warn you. We, uh" – He pressed the knuckles of his right hand to his lips and cleared his throat – "we may have to break a few local laws, depending on where the heart is."

"I don't care." She crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and drew in a lungful of that horrible, dead, icy air. "I'll do anything and everything to save them…to save _him_." She looked at Newt again. Her vision grew blurry. There was a knot in her throat. Still, she managed to stay in control. "Thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet."

"Yes, you have, and you will, too. So thank you, Newt."

"Sure." He glanced down at his boots. "So…seeing as they're safe and protected for the next year, shall we get started? I need to go home and, uh…pack. Pack a few things. There's a lot we're gonna need."

"And I need to go to London and empty my vault." Fearing that she might not be able to resist the urge to look down at Alastair if she stayed any longer, she spun around on her heels and marched toward the broken front door.


	26. As the World Falls Down

**As the World Falls Down**

 **1925**

 **1** **Graves (and it was so important to truly embody that identity)** sent Tina out of the interrogation chamber so he could have a nice little chat with the wayward rebel, Ethel Partridge, just as the poor thing had requested. She really was a poor thing, wasn't she? All heart-broken, consumed by hatred and desire for revenge. That was no way to live.

Then again, keeping to the shadows, creeping around in dark corners for the sake of primitive little apes who couldn't even use magic was no way to live, either.

This woman – more of a girl, really – was uncouth and impulsive, but she was useful. Not only that: she was a believer. She was loyal. She was unafraid. Those qualities made up for most of her inadequacies.

Besides, he did have a lingering fondness for her. If there was something he could get behind, it was deep, all-encompassing, raw passion. The moment troublesome little Tina was gone, he leaned back in his chair, started drumming on the metal table-top with the fingers of his left hand, and jabbed the index of his right at Ethel.

She was just looking back at him, unabashed.

He said, "You should've told me about what you were planning to do to my Auror."

"You would've said no," she said, and shrugged, trying way too hard to convey nonchalance.

"Indeed, I would've. You have no right to interfere with my plans. You also don't have all the information. If you veer off-path, that could have catastrophic consequences for us all." He face-palmed. "Ethel. _Ethel_."

"She _murdered_ my brother and now she murdered Ares without breaking a sweat. Not only that, but she don't care that she ended the lives of two wizards over a bunch of worthless No-Majs. She's our _enemy_." Her tone was pleading, as if she were willing him to understand something both fundamental and obvious.

Young people. It was to despair.

He threw up his hands, exasperated, and shook his head at her. "We're at a crossroads here, Ethel. The times are changing. What we do will transform our whole world, but we haven't won yet. There's still a long way to go. We _cannot_ " – He leaned forward, placed his hands flatly on the table's cool metal – "cannot afford mistakes. It is _vital_ that you follow my orders. Do you understand that? If we don't, then we've got a problem."

Her pleasant face flushed red. She broke off eye-contact and looked down at her lap. "I understand. I'm sorry, sir. I…" She trailed off and snorted disdainfully. "She ain't got no idea who I am. She murdered my brother and can't even remember. Now I'm supposed to let that slide? How is that fair?" Her breathing grew ragged. Her expression contorted. She closed her eyes. Tears spilled through her eyelashes. She sniffled, clearly trying hard to suppress sobs.

Oh, dear. Poor thing. Sighing inwardly, he got up to his feet, circumvented the table, and placed a hand on Ethel's shoulders. Young love. Always a heartbreak, wasn't it? Someone always got left behind, wiser to how the world really worked.

Thinking about Albus Dumbledore right now would not do. No, it would not do at all.

He said, "I'm sorry for your losses, Ethel – really, I am. Both your brother and Ares Malfoy were extraordinary young men. Their deaths were great tragedies." Nonsense, of course. Young Mister Malfoy had been an intelligent, capable, and crafty wizard, yes, albeit an arrogant, self-important, self-enamoured little shit. Ethel's brother, though? He'd been useless. Telling that to the girl, however, would be counter-productive.

Ethel was a passably talented witch, but her real use were the contacts within the North-American wizarding community that she had. She was a person of interest to MACUSA, of course, and therefore needed to be protected. That being so, it was a bit of a bafflement that Tina Goldstein, of all people, had no idea who she was.

After a few minutes, she had herself under control again and raised her head to face him. "Thank you. I'm sorry I messed up. I just…you know, get so angry sometimes."

"I know. I understand – really, I do." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze. "But we must set aside personal animosities, grudges, and even sorrows. Our goal is so much more important than our personal lives, Ethel. Everything we do is for the greater good, remember?"

She nodded. "Yeah, boss. I remember."

"So…about Goldstein?"

Her face turned into a mask of misery. "The tattoo…it ain't reversible. That was the whole point: her knowing she'd die horribly."

He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "My dear, every single curse in existence is reversible. There isn't a one that cannot be undone. Some present mysteries nigh-on impossible to untangle, but a sharp, disciplined mind will always manage, in the end. Now please, tell me where you got the tattoo, and I shall do the rest."

"Sure. Of course. But what happens to me? And when do I finally get to kill Goldstein?" She made a face. "If she survives the curse?"

The smile blossomed. "All in good time, dear."

* * *

 **2** **How could Graves cave to such a childish demand** and actually let that crazy Partridge woman dictate the terms? That was…oh, it was just so _odd!_ Frankly, it was out of character. Not so long ago, he would have vehemently declined such ultimatums. Did Partridge know something that Tina didn't? Was she an informer? A double-agent, perchance? What about Celestia Prewett (and some of those English witches and wizards had ridiculously pretentious names, didn't they)? Had Tina only spooked her? Did Prewett have ulterior motives related to the Grindelwald movement? Had she fooled Graves into setting her free despite Queenie's assurance that she was not a Grindelwald supporter? There were so many questions Tina couldn't answer, so many details that didn't make sense to her.

She was leaning against the cold stone wall outside the interrogation chamber, arms crossed, trying so hard not to scratch her wrist or even look at it. It was itching pretty badly now. Tina had no idea whether the curse was really already this itchy or if she was just making it worse in her own mind by thinking about it so much.

Graves had said that she had a week.

Partridge had said that there was no cure.

Tina supposed that that was the whole point. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to think of something else. Either they'd find a way to cure her, or they wouldn't. Made no sense to fret about it. That, of course, didn't help – logical thinking and all that. The fact was, she was cursed, and there was a real chance that this curse would kill her seven days from now. How did one stay objective in the face of such odds? Besides, death, should it come, would not come quietly. Tina's wrist was already itching like crazy, and only a few hours had passed since Partridge had cursed her. How bad would this get the next few days?

Again, she took a deep breath, tried to focus on her heartbeat, tried to relax and not to think about things like impending death, the questions she couldn't answer, the whole Celestia Prewett issue, her itchy wrist.

It was a _horrible_ itch, wasn't it?

She needed to keep these two things separate: her curse and her investigation. So little about what was going on here made sense to her. Celestia Prewett and the object she was looking for, the Grindelwald supporters' involvement, Graves's unwillingness to reveal all the information he had: all of that was part of the same mystery. The curse wasn't mysterious at all.

The challenge was to keep a clear head during all of it, until it was over.

When she was just about to give into the urge to scratch her wrist, the door was opened from the inside.

Graves stepped out. He looked solemn, but not defeated. "She told me all I need to know. Now, first things first: let's get you fixed."

Tina's brows knitted together. She felt a little ill. "Does she know how to cure the curse?"

"No, but she told me where to find the witch responsible for it."

"Has she told you anything about Prewett and the-"

" _Tina_." He arched his eyebrows at her. "Priorities. Everything will be taken care of. The question is: can you for once follow my orders without messing it all up on company time?"

Even though all of her questions were still threatening to just bubble to the surface, she made herself nod curtly. "Yes, sir."

A few seconds ticked by, during which he only watched her, looking thoroughly unconvinced. Finally, though, he nodded, too, and said, "Good. So let's get started."

"If you'd tell me where to find this witch, I could-"

"No. I'll take you there."

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "Sir?"

"This is too important, and frankly, I don't trust you not to just abscond and try to find Celestia Prewett, first."

To be honest, neither did she.

* * *

 **3** **Leta materialised inside an empty house in the outskirts of a city called Portland.** They'd been here before, she and the others, because this place was supposed to be the point where they'd regroup in case of an emergency. The house was nice, but uninhabited and, courtesy of some wards, pretty much off the Muggles' perspective. Muggles. No-Majs. Whatever.

Leta had to think about her mother, who always made good-natured fun of the differences between England and the United States.

It was, frankly, rather useless to reminisce right now – even more useless than usually. There were more pressing matters at hand.

First, Leta checked whether she was alone in the house – turned out that she was. Second, she needed to calm down and organise her thoughts. Things hadn't quite gone the way they had all planned, had they? Were any of the others even alive? Nocturna Prewett should be; she'd left with her airheaded sister.

In retrospect, this didn't seem like such a good idea anymore to Leta.

The real question was this, though: did MACUSA know about her personal involvement in this disaster? She knew that the Grindelwald supporters had people inside the government, yes, but she had no idea who or what those mystical potential allies might be aware of in terms of details. If MACUSA knew about Leta's involvement – peripheral as it was – then they'd no doubt rat her out to the Ministry of Magic. What would happen to her then? How could she return to England under such circumstances? How was she supposed to show her face at social events if she was a wanted criminal on the run?

Theseus would no doubt find this pretty hilarious. What did he know, though? He was a natural adventurer, that one.

Okay, okay. Time to think. Time to find solutions.

Newt had accused her of being self-centred and selfish, but in reality, she was a survivor. This was a cold, cruel, unfair world. Either a person was capable of looking out for themselves, or they got chewed up and spat out. She'd never meant him any harm, but he was just too gentle. So naturally, people walked all over him every chance they got. He was just too blind to see it.

She brushed these thoughts aside. They were a waste of time on her best day. She really needed to focus and to decide what to do next. At a brisk pace, she walked into what was probably the living room, headed straight to the fireplace, pointed her wand at it, and said, " _Incendio_." Immediately, the long-dead embers burst into bright, crackling flames. Great. Now, all she needed to do was reach Theseus and tell him that the time had come for her to go home.

That was when she heard the sound of someone Apparating behind her. Quick as lightning, she spun around and pointed her wand at the newcomer. When she found herself face to face with Nocturna Prewett, she immediately relaxed.

Nocturna's carroty hair was messy. Her pasty face was flushed. Her clothes were crumpled. She looked tense. "You're the only one here?"

"I am. There, uh…there were problems at the barn. I got separated from the others. They fought. It was really hard to see what was actually happening. There was nothing I could do to help, so I figured it'd be smarter to come here."

For a moment, Nocturna just frowned at her, but then she sighed, walked over to the broad windowsill, and sat down. She buried her face in her hands and groaned.

Leta just watched her impassively. It would be obvious to an infant that something had gone wrong. In all probability, Celestia had bolted – no surprises, there. That girl had a one-track-mind and was not the kind who liked to share with the other kids.

Nocturna let her hands sink and gave Leta a wretched look. "Change of plan, Leta. There's no way in hell that we'll find Tia before she finds the frozen heart."

"Does she know how to make it work?"

"I have no idea. What I do know is that she's either already got it, or she's about to. We can't stop that from happening."

"So what now?"

Nocturna pressed her fingertips to her temples. "We stop trying to chase or woo her. We go back to England and intercept her, instead. That's her final destination, isn't it? The Fawley home? So that's where we need to be. Their time is running out. If she wants to save them, she needs to get a move on."

"What about the others?"

"We can't wait for them. Odds are, they're all dead or captured. No, it's just us now. We need to act." Nocturna locked eyes with Leta. "Are you up for it?"

Well, that was fortunate. Leta allowed a small smile to curve up the corners of her mouth. "As a matter of fact, I was just working on a way back home."

* * *

 **4** **Celestia had to admit, Ronny was a lot more capable as a wizard** than she remembered him being. Memory was a selective, not to mention fickle thing. She remembered him being good at Quidditch, but it would be absurd to assume that he'd graduated based only on that. Athletic prowess was something commendable, of course, but utterly meaningless in the academic area. Whoever graduated Hogwarts must be at least a passably competent witch or wizard.

Now, she learned that Ronny wasn't just good at being a wizard, but he was pretty great at logistics, too. Not only had he tracked down the informant meant to lead Celestia to the frozen heart, but he'd had the foresight to actually plan a daring escape back to England. In all honesty, she had to admit that for all her tenacity, she'd only got this far for two reasons: a) her money, and b) Newt Scamander. He was smart and resourceful and had a knack for thinking unconventionally. Also, he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty – something that she'd had to get used to, being the sheltered, pampered little princess that she was…or had been, in any case.

There was nothing quite like adversity to induce some healthy character growth.

As always, thinking about Newt made her feel like the worst person in the world. He was such a good friend. He was such a decent human being. He'd stood by her and helped her all the way, and she'd just ditched him the moment he'd started inconveniencing her.

Should she actually survive this ludicrous adventure, she would find him and apologise to him. It would be the second time she'd stabbed him in the back. Expecting forgiveness was too much. All she wanted was to tell him that she was sorry. In his eyes, the end did not justify the means.

She wasn't sure that it did in hers, either, to be honest.

It was way too late to start questioning her conduct now, though. Here she was, on a luxurious Muggle ocean liner, seemingly crawling back to England at a snail's pace. This thing had won some sort of speed price or something called Blue Riband, she'd read in a book, but it still took about five days to reach its destination. Going back via ship was bold; one had to give Ronny that. Going back as oneself would be stupid, though, which was why she and Ronny had used Polyjuice potion to take the place of two Muggle passengers aboard the ocean liner.

He'd brewed it a month in advance, just in case – cunning. Cunning and smart.

Another thing Celestia had to admit to herself was that, in her desperation, she might actually have tried to Apparate all the way back home, probably splinching herself to death in the process. This was something she'd found out about herself: she would cross nearly every line in order to get back to Alastair in time. It wasn't a particularly savoury realisation, but it was the truth nonetheless. She'd hardened her heart over the past year; that much was a fact. Even during her Hogwarts days, she'd been somewhat talented at trampling down discomfort in order to preserve the status quo, but the lengths she'd gone to these past twelve months in order to kill off her capacity for empathy? It all scared her. It scared her, but she convinced herself that it was all necessary.

Newt, of course, would disagree. He'd say that violence and lack of empathy were not the way to go, even if they rendered the desired results. The price would be too high.

In fact, he had said that, right before she'd left him behind.

No use bemoaning her fate, now, even if it was only in her head. It never helped, anyway.

Five days from now, she'd be home, with only a short time to spare in order to save Alastair and his parents. Whatever might happen, however all of this might end, at least it would be over – one way or another.


	27. Your Souls For Flight

**Your Souls For Flight**

 **1925**

 **1** **Maybe this was too convenient to be a coincidence,** maybe Tina was being paranoid, but it struck her as exceedingly odd that the witch responsible for her deadly tattoo curse was currently barely three blocks away from the MACUSA building. Then again, a No-Maj-hating witch Tina hadn't even known existed until a few days ago had placed a possibly fatal curse on her. Her life had always been ludicrously dramatic, but she couldn't shake the feeling that things were getting weirder and weirder as time marched on – not just for her, but for everybody.

Well, with a lunatic such as Grindelwald on the loose, it was a small wonder that the entire wizarding world was collectively losing its mind.

As she followed Graves into a rather high-class apartment building, she told herself to stop feeding the doom and gloom. There were always bad things happening, no matter what the epoch. Blubbering about it or trying to pass one's own woes off as more special than everyone else's was not only ridiculous; it was selfish, too. It was important not to lose perspective of what really mattered, and there was a lot that mattered right now.

Despite the cooling salve that one of the healers had given her for the tattoo, her wrist was itching so badly, she could hardly keep herself from scratching it. Unfortunately, as the healer had told her about ten times inside of five minutes, that would only make it worse. It was already getting worse. The itch started to spread down to her hand. Soon, it would take her arm and get so bad, she'd need to be rendered unconscious to prevent her from skinning herself in desperation.

Not much to look forward to.

Nothing for it.

Graves led her up to the top floor, past a wall of No-Maj-repelling charms, and to a painfully swanky, gold-plated door with the number 19 glued to it in rhinestones. Maybe they were diamonds. Maybe it was a charm. Whatever it was, it was painfully ugly.

Tina couldn't care less, to be honest. On her slowest day, she had bigger problems than vulgar décor. "Seems to going well, the curse business," she said dryly, then cast Graves a quick sideways look. "So, do we knock?"

"No reason not to. This is a businesswoman. We're not here to arrest her." He raised one gloved hand and rapped his knuckles against the door. The sound was weirdly soft – aha, so it _was_ real gold.

How tacky.

That still was Tina's smallest concern, though.

Graves's reaction, however? That. That was strange. Since when did he allow a rogue witch to sell illegal curses to criminals and fanatics unpunished?

To Tina, that made exactly zero sense. "Sir-"

"Not one word, Goldstein." Oh, was it back to 'Goldstein'? Well, that wasn't good. "You need to learn to understand the bigger picture. We need this person to cooperate. Your life depends on it. So just shut up and let me do the talking. Understood?"

"Understood, sir." She discreetly cleared her throat. By the skin of her teeth, she managed to keep herself from adding, 'But I don't have to like it.' It was a close call, though.

As if on cue, someone opened the door. A woman of perhaps fifty years of age greeted them, smiling: she was tall, light-skinned, rather voluptuous, and had luscious brown hair pinned up in an old-fashioned bun. Her eyes scanned first Tina, then Graves. Her pupils widened. She laughed. "My, my, if it isn't Mister Law Enforcement himself. Have you come to arrest me, good sir?" In a mocking fashion that Tina did not appreciate a single bit, the woman bowed her head.

Tina also didn't fail to notice that this lady had a very pronounced German accent.

Graves smiled right back at her, not fazed in the slightest. "Miss Trolldenier? You are a very long way from home."

Raising her carefully plucked eyebrows, the woman said, "You must have me confused with someone else. My name is-"

Sighing with exasperation, Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cut the nonsense, please. We're not here to arrest or even investigate you. You help us, we leave you alone and simply ignore the broader implications of your presence here."

Tina might have promised to keep quiet, but she couldn't help giving her superior a wide-eyed, incredulous stare.

A few seconds ticked by, during which the woman chewed on her lower lip. Then, she shrugged, said, "All right, then. Please enter my humble abode," beckoned to them, and strolled inside as if she didn't have a car in the world. Obnoxious, that was what that was.

Tina followed her through a hallway and into a tall drawing room filled with golden furniture, a gigantic gramophone, and displays filled with sparkly jewellery. "Humble, sure," she mumbled under her breath, shaking her head, making a face. This was the tackiest, swankiest, most garish display of lack of taste that she had ever had the misfortune to set her eyes on – by Merlin. _Awful_. Some people. Didn't they realise that in terms of refinement, less was always more? Not that she was the epitome of sophistication, but she was perfectly capable of telling if something was classy or not. Besides, she wasn't exactly in the mood to cut this witch any slack. There was no sense in being lenient toward a person who had an extravagant lifestyle because she sold fatal curses to criminals.

The woman Graves had called Miss Trolldenier motioned toward a divan. She herself settled down in an armchair. "So…how can I help you?"

Graves sat down.

Tina followed suit, albeit with reluctance. Was it a consequence of the curse, or did the air in here smell nauseatingly sweet?

He said, "Show her."

"Are you-"

"Tina. _Show_ her."

Staring the woman straight in the eye, Tina rolled back her sleeve. The black, thorny vines around her wrist had spread. Delicate-looking twigs were winding down her hands, her fingers. The urge to scratch it became almost unbearable. She bit her tongue. Beads of sweat erupted on her forehead.

Trolldenier whistled lowly. "Oh, dear. How long have you had this?"

"A few hours," Tina said, in clipped tones.

"Really? Good gracious. This looks so bad already."

"It's your handiwork, isn't it?" Graves said. "Sold to a young witch called Ethel Partridge – a witch with an axe to grind."

"The Grindelwald fanatic, yes." Trolldenier's smile blossomed into a pretty loathsome grin. "I remember. Very driven, her. My kind of criminal."

"Of course," he said, cracking a smile, as well – much to Tina's surprise,. "Aren't you from the same town as Grindelwald? Your French name notwithstanding."

"And how would an influential man such as yourself know a poor little nobody such as me?" She did look intrigued, though, and spread her hands. "After all, I'm only visiting. My library is waiting for me."

Tina pulled a grimace. "You're a _librarian_?"

"The best in all the German nations, I'd say." She pointed at Tina's still exposed wrist. "That, though? I'm afraid I could spend twenty years reading all the books of Drachenstein, and I would still not find a cure for that."

"Somehow," Graves said, frowning a little, "I find that hard to believe."

The wretched woman shrugged. "Bad luck happens."

Graves only snorted derisively. He was acting a little weird, wasn't he?

"And an educated woman such as yourself, a Franconian witch hailing from Grindelwald's hometown, just happens to coincidentally sell a lethal curse to a Grindelwald terrorist? A curse designed to kill an Auror close to busting a terror cell bent on procuring a weapon of mass destruction _for_ Grindelwald?" Tina shook her head and shifted her weight so she could look at Graves properly. "Sir, this _has_ to be deliberate. This _has_ to be political!"

"You know what, Tina?" Graves said, eerily calm and composed, "I believe you're quite right." He pulled his wand.

Tina did, too. Finally! _Finally_ , they were going to do what they were supposed to-

The last thing she heard was her boss saying, "Stupefy," in a quiet, almost contemplative tone.

The spell hit her like a punch in the face.

The world went black.

* * *

 **2** **The moment young Tina lost consciousness and dropped back on the divan,** Graves pocketed his wand again. "If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you," he said, in German. Being able to speak several languages was always advantageous, wasn't it? All that without betraying – or at least confirming – his actual identity. It was tiring, pretending to be someone else, but for quite a while longer, we would have to be patient. A revolution wasn't won in a year or two, and staying in the Old World as himself had become too dangerous.

"You've turn out to be so much more interesting than I believed you would," she said, not betraying any sign of distress or nervousness. "Who would've thought?"

"Never mind that. My Auror is right: you're here for political reasons, and that curse? You were waiting here for us to find you. Someone like you usually doesn't wait for law enforcement to catch up with her."

She waited, but when he remained watching her in silence, she raised her hands, palms upward, in an inquisitive manner. "Is there any more coming, or am I supposed to guess?"

"Can you cure her?" he said, unimpressed with her cheap and easily seen-through theatrics.

"Why would you want me to? When she wakes up-"

"Please. She'll remember nothing." He waved off, impatient. It wasn't as if he had time for this kind of silly pantomime. "Answer my question."

For another few seconds, she just kept looking back at him blankly, but then, she shrugged. "All right. Yes, I can probably cure her – with emphasis on probably – but not here. If she's to have any chance of surviving, I need to take her to Franconia, but I'll not do that before I get what I actually came for."

There was always something, wasn't there? Motivations that sent people halfway around the globe in an incessant, cold-blooded quest were something he could sympathise with. From a number of his acquaintances, he knew of this woman's reputation. It was actually pleasant to meet her.

"And what would that be?" he said, impassive.

"It's not much. I've been helping a small group of rebels find a certain object that would be very helpful to our movement. Unfortunately, the wizard in my employ tasked with finding the object in question was murdered by an Englishman – a Quidditch player, it seems. This English Quidditch player killed a MACUSA informer, as well, if my information is correct."

Again, he smiled a little. "It is."

"Well, from what I glean, this object is now en route to England. Now, I'm guessing that you, for whatever reason, don't seem too interested in stopping my people, but you do seem interested in saving this young woman here." She batted her eyelashes at him. "Do you think we can work out some kind of deal, Mister Graves?"

"Perhaps we can help each other."

It remained to be decided whether this woman could be allowed to live after this affair had been dealt with. After all, for all her usefulness, she knew that one of the top MACUSA employees was not what he seemed. Needless to say, that kind of information could not surface – not yet, anyway. Not for a long time. There was too much to do, yet, too much to achieve.

"Perhaps we can, Mister Graves," she said, and smiled again. "And may I just say that my stay here in this grey metropolis has just become a million times more enticing?"

Despite himself, he returned her expression. "I don't blame you. There really is no place as beautiful as home." It was the truth, too.

Sometimes, being completely honest felt even better than the most carefully crafted deception.

* * *

 **3** **Consciousness returned to Tina slowly, and she was reluctant to emerge from it.** After all, sleep was great. Being knocked out was even better. It felt…actually, it felt like nothing – nothing at all: no questions, no duty, no threats by fanatics, no doubts, no feelings, no deadly curse. Nothingness was _so_ good. It couldn't last, though. Not even in death did oblivion last. She came to slowly, laboriously, rising to the surface despite herself, finding herself more and more inside a body that felt achy, feverish, itchy, and sore.

Had…wait. What had even happened?

She…the curse! The cursed tattoo! The battle against the Grindelwald supporters!

 _Queenie_.

Abruptly, she sat up, opened her eyes, looked around wildly. What….her left arm was bandaged and…dead. She couldn't move it. She couldn't feel it, either. This was like falling asleep on one's arm: the eyes saw that dead lump of flesh hanging at one's side, but the brain couldn't find the arm – until the pins and needles set in, that was. There were no pins and needles now. Huh.

Where the hell _was_ she?

She blinked, took a few soothing breaths, and looked about herself. This…this was a bedroom, obviously: bed, nightstand, wardrobe, rocking chair. The furniture was made of some kind of dark wood. It looked old, not to mention old-fashioned. The walls were covered by wallpaper that sported a black background and a pattern of vines and leafs in several shades of green. Tina wasn't an expert, but this looked not only somewhat out of fashion, but also very European. Prussian? Bavarian? French?

What was this place? How had she even gotten here? The last thing she remembered was heading out with Graves to find the witch who had sold the cursed tattoo to Ethel Partridge. Her dead left arm was…well, dead, but the rest of her was itching vaguely. How long had she been out, anyway? Long enough to get changed into something that looked like a white nightgown and be treated in some manner.

Now that was a somewhat discomfiting thought.

The fact that she had no idea how she'd even conked out was perplexing, to say the least. Bracing herself for tragedy, she peeked inside the nightgown. There was nothing unusual on the skin of her upper body. Then, she wedged her thumb under the tight bandage at her shoulder and squinted at her arm. Since thick curtains were partially drawn before the one window, there wasn't too much light. Still, when she saw the black vines on her white skin, her stomach cramped.

Time had passed. She'd gotten worse.

At least someone had managed to dull the symptoms. One had to be grateful for every small favour.

But _where was she_? Was this some sort of healing institution? It looked more like a guesthouse than anything else. What she needed now was information. It was more difficult than she would have expected, having to move around with one dead arm hanging off her body. Still, she managed to throw back the heavy eiderdown, plant her bare feet on the floorboards, and eventually push herself to her feet, groaning. There were stars dancing before her eyes for a moment, but she managed to remain standing – so far, so good. On rubbery legs (mercifully free of black vines, goodness be thanked), she made her way to the window, pulled back the velvety curtains, and found herself looking at a strange, yet beautiful late afternoon vista: a hilly, picturesque village composed of timbered houses and narrow cobbled streets – smoke rising from chimneys and everything. In the background, mist rose from a vast dark forest that looked to be composed mostly of conifers. Atop the highest hill, amidst the tall trees, stood an imposing grey castle, partially shrouded in fog.

Oh. Okay, then.

Thankfully, there was that rocking chair she could drop herself into.

Somehow, she had lost consciousness in New York City and had woken up in Albenheim, Franconia.

"I'll be damned," she heard herself saying, as she stared out the window.

Outside, it had just started to snow.

* * *

 **4** **Tina had no idea how much time had passed when someone opened the door** and stepped inside the room. She didn't turn to look. Whoever this person was, they'd make their intent known soon enough. It probably wasn't harm they intended, either. After all, why go through the trouble of helping a cursed witch and then killing her? Besides, Tina had no idea where her wand had gone. Unlike Graves, she wasn't any good at doing wandless magic.

Where was he in all this, anyway?

The door was closed. A female voice said, "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?" This woman, whoever she was, had a thick German accent. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"All things considered, pretty good. Whoever killed my arm, I want to thank them. I can't feel anything."

"I did that." Steps approached. The voice's owner walked over to the window and, therefore, into Tina's field of vision. She was tall, had white skin, brown hair, and looked even more familiar than her voice sounded.

Tina couldn't quite place her, though – odd. She'd always prided herself in her good memory for faces.

The woman said, "My name is Blanche Trolldenier. I'm the librarian at Drachenstein University."

"A librarian? So this curse must really be hopeless, if the healers have already given up. Thank you, though. I feel fine."

Trolldenier smiled. "You were brought from the United States all the way to Franconia, bearing a curse that should've killed you inside of seven days, and yet, only your left arm is affected. What does that tell you?"

It told her that she didn't want to answer riddles. That was then it dawned on her. The proverbial galleon dropped. Her heart picked up the pace. Despite herself, she perked up. "It's healing?"

"Hm, not quite, no," Trolldenier said, making a face. "We've got it contained to your arm, but if we can't find a way to reverse the process, it'll end up spreading."

Tina tried to keep her disappointment in check. She couldn't help but clench her right hand into a fist, though. There was a sour taste in her mouth. Randomly, she wondered in what deplorable state her hair might be in, now. Her scalp prickled. "Oh."

"Don't you worry, love. You are at the oldest and most prestigious institute of higher learning in the world…at least I like to think so." She laughed, good-humoured, as if this were nothing but polite chit-chat. It was out of place and tone-deaf, to say the least.

"Thanks," Tina said, taken aback despite herself. She frowned. "I…can you tell me how I got here? What happened? One minute, I'm following up on an investigation with my boss, the next, I'm waking up halfway around the world." Wearing a frilly nightgown, no less.

The trip from New York to Southampton via ocean liner took about five days. From Southampton, one needed to get to Franconia; it was too far to Apparate, and the Floo network did not extend to the European mainland. That meant that she'd probably been taken by train, which was half a day's travel. Her treatment must have taken at least a few hours, probably longer. So…she'd been lugged about, fed, cleaned, treated, and changed into this nightgown without once waking up, for about a week.

That was creepy. That was ungodly creepy.

Now, however, was the time for action. Being unsettled and uncomfortable was a luxury she couldn't afford. "Please," she said, "tell me how all of this happened."

For a moment, Trolldenier just returned her look, an unreadable expression on her face. Then, she smiled again. It was still weirdly out of place. "Your boss, the esteemed Mister Graves, told me to tell you that once you were back home again, he'd explain to you what requires explaining – no more, no less."

Yes, that sounded like him, all right.

Slowly, Tina nodded. "So Mister Graves had me sent here, then?" No reply came. She discreetly cleared her throat. "I need to talk to him. Could you give me back my wand?"

Trolldenier looked genuinely surprised. "What do you need that for?"

"To light the fireplace. To talk to Mister Graves."

"No, no, no," Trolldenier said, waving off, "none of that. You rest and recover. Now that you're awake, you can take a bath, read a book, have a good meal, drink wine, and relax. You-"

"No! I need to talk to Graves. There's-"

"Miss Goldstein, please." Trolldenier raised her hands. "Stress sets off the curse. What you need now is rest. When's the last time you took a holiday?"

Tina frowned. "Hol…oh, vacation. I, uhm…I don't remember."

The smile returned. This time, it was appropriate. "Then this is a blessing in disguise! You rest, get well, and after you're cured, I will show you around the village, the university, everything. How does that sound?"

Maybe this was only due to Tina's brain still being fuzzy from her long sleep, but only now did it occur to her that this was Grindelwald's hometown. She felt cold. A nasty shiver ran down her spine. Her innards roiled. "Sounds great." Her voice was croaky. Great. How did people manage subterfuge again?

"Lovely! You just wait here. I'll go tell the hostess to prepare you a nice, hot meal." Without waiting for a reply, she marched away, leaving Tina alone again.

Tina just looked out the window again, at the village, the forest, and the castle. Yes, she needed to get rid of this curse, but even more importantly, she needed to find out what the hell was going on. There was something wrong here – there was something very, very wrong. At the moment, though, there was nothing she could do about it. She was, effectively, trapped.


	28. If You Dare

**If You Dare**

 **1925**

 **1** **"There is still the matter of how to get to Alastair without getting caught,"** Ronny said to Celestia. He was still disguised as an elderly Muggle lady who bore the improbable name of Loretta Sparks, whilst Celestia was posing as Mrs Sparks's daughter, Carlotta. They were on a Muggle train, heading to London. It probably wasn't necessary to take that extra precaution, but both Ronny and Celestia had agreed that they couldn't be careful enough. After all, there were only a few days left to save the Fawleys, and they had in their possession an artefact that was wanted by everyone and their Niffler, it seemed.

"I know." She was sitting by the window, her briefcase on her lap. Inside, protected by a containment spell, was the one thing that could save Alastair and his parents. A less trite metaphor would not come to her, but hell would have to freeze over before she gave up the frozen heart. "Nothing but this thing here" – She patted the suitcase with one gloved hand – "can thaw the ice-"

"We need to find out how it works, too."

That.

Unwittingly, she thought of Newt.

How he had hated her plan.

She didn't have a choice, though. No, she was all out of options at this point. "Yes, indeed. But as I was saying: only the frozen heart can thaw the ice. Still, the fate of the Fawley family isn't exactly a secret. Now that I've attracted the attention of the American government, they will no doubt have alerted the Ministry of Magic. I was broken out of MACUSA by Grindelwald fanatics – my sister." She closed her eyes. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was cottony. She felt nauseous. Small wonder, really: she hadn't eaten in two days. This wasn't by choice, of course. The simple truth was that nothing would stay down.

"Didn't you get recruited by that Auror fellow?"

"I ran. He won't exactly be speaking up on my behalf after the debacle at that barn." Her head hurt worse than ever. She'd left them all behind: the Malfoys, Leta…

…Nocturna.

Yes, yes, yes, Nana was a big girl and would survive this setback, but it had been a betrayal. What had happened to Apollo and Ares and Leta? Had they been caught? Were they after her? No. No use thinking about them. No use feeling guilty. They wouldn't do her the same courtesy.

Newt's voice said, in her mind, that she shouldn't base her moral code on what others did or didn't do.

Celestia had left him behind, too. It couldn't be avoided, though. These were choices she'd needed to make. If only her teenaged self could see her now. She'd probably be shocked beyond rational thoughts at the borderline evil things she was capable of. "There will be Aurors, in all probability – magic wards, maybe some local Grindelwald supporters."

"Of which there are quite a few. If your sister ratted you out, then they'll probably be waiting."

"I believe she might have done just that. It's all for the greater good, I'm told." She opened her eyes again, looked outside the passing landscape without registering any of it, and blew out a heavy breath. Her whole body felt as heavy as lead. "So what do we do, Ronny? I'll have to rely on your sense of practicality. I'm no good at all this spy business."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? I wouldn't have got far by myself."

"Like everyone else. What's so wrong with needing the help of a friend? We all do."

She smiled at him, said, "You're sweet, you know. Thanks for everything," and then sighed. "Oh, this whole situation is so wretched! How on _Earth_ are we supposed to get even close to Alastair after all the fanfare? Secrecy is completely out the window now."

Ronny mulled this over for a moment. He tugged at the lacy cuffs of his flowery coat. "I've been thinking about it the whole time we were on that ship. The problem is, we don't know what's waiting for us, or who."

That…oh. Perking up, she shifted her weight so she could stare at him, wide-eyed. "Ronny, did you Obliviate the Scamanders after you ransacked their house?"

He made a face. Like this, he looked a bit like old Mrs Parkinson, the tough-love babysitter who had sometimes looked after Celestia and Nocturna.

Both had loved her. She'd died of Dragon Pox not five years past.

"Of course I did," he said.

"Does anyone know what you've been up to these past few weeks?"

That was when the proverbial galleon dropped. It was obvious from his expression. He chuckled. "No. You follow Quidditch?" When she shook her head, he nodded. "Well, last season, I got injured so severely, I almost died – was in a coma for a fortnight, if you can believe it." He raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair, but then obviously remembered that the Muggle he was impersonating had long hair piled up in a bun. "So I took a sabbatical – a whole year. I said I'd travel around, recover, pick some flowers, the like."

The mere thought of Petronius Flint frolicking through a meadow, picking flowers, was so absurd, she had to snicker despite all the current drama.

He smiled, looking a lot sweeter than Mrs Parkinson ever had.

Mrs Parkinson had been the best.

"Nobody knows you're involved, then," she said, and grabbed his wrist. "We need to use that to our advantage, Ronny."

His smile morphed into a smirk. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

 **2** **That Porpentina Goldstein was a nuisance and a half,** but letting a competent Auror die on his watch would be extremely out of character for brave and responsible Percival Graves. Besides, wantonly killing talented wizards and witches was not something Gellert Grindelwald was prone to do if he could help it. As long as the young woman didn't interfere with his affairs more than (unwittingly) assist him, he'd do what Percival Graves would do in order to keep her breathing.

Besides, her curse had given him a good excuse to return to Europe – to return home. He wouldn't be able to stay, naturally, but for a little while, he'd be able to go back to being himself. That was a risk and a half he was taking, yes, but fortune favoured the bold, as the idiom went. Besides, he was pretty confident that Picquery and the rest of MACUSA were so arrogant, they'd never connect Graves's absence with Grindelwald's resurgence – temporary though that might be. He'd return to America, of course, if only to avoid capture, to keep his enemies guessing what was to come next.

Well, in all honesty, he had to admit that he was taking a risk because he missed being home and because he missed being himself. Such was the nature of homesickness and nostalgia. Also, he'd always been a risk-taker. One did not start and head a revolution without a good deal of boldness and fearlessness.

What he'd told young Ethel had been the truth: they hadn't won, yet. In fact, they were far from it. Support for the cause had grown ever since the end of the War, but still, most people were afraid of the idea of revolution. They were afraid of taking their fates into their own hands, of taking control. They were afraid of change. Many among the so-called Purebloods supported wizard superiority, whilst among Muggle-borns and Halfbloods, support was rather limited. Reasons for this were fairly obvious: nobody who came from a Muggle family wanted their parents, their siblings, their friends to become subjects under wizarding rule. Sadly, that was something they would have to learn to accept. Wizardkind was superior in every way. It was time that they took up the mantle of responsibility.

Grindelwald was also fairly convinced that many wizards and witches among Halfbloods at least could be converted to see the light. All they needed was the right incentive. All they needed was to be shown the truth about themselves and their role in this world…

…which was why it had been a primarily good decision to return to Europe for at least a little while. Things needed to be taken care of. He wasn't exactly prone to micromanaging, but he was a man of action as well as theory – always had been. That was why he needed to be _here_ , needed to take care of this important affair, needed to personally make sure that matters turned out advantageous to his people. Insisting on taking Tina to Albenheim had been the perfect excuse. Picquery hadn't even complained; she'd just sighed and consented, saying that he'd do it anyway. Was the real Graves such a team dad? Funny. At some point, keeping him alive, hidden, and incapacitated would no longer be necessary.

Being back in Europe was so elating, he briefly considered looking up Albus Dumbledore. As soon as the thought formed in his mind, he trampled it down again. How nonsensical this would be – dangerous and arrogant, too. No. No, he and Albus had parted ways a long time ago.

Albus would never see reason again; he'd made that much clear.

No matter.

It didn't matter.

What mattered so much more right now was that Celestia Prewett and Petronius Flint (and hadn't young Nocturna been honestly indignant about her sister's betrayal? Poor thing) be intercepted and stopped from using the frozen heart for the insipid purpose of thawing three people.

No, Grindelwald had something much more important planned for that precious artefact. He was going to make sure that that sentimental girl didn't mess it all up.

* * *

 **3** **Ever since Celestia had set a trap for him in Athens and run off on her own,** Newt had waited for her to return to England with the frozen heart in her possession. It wasn't as if he couldn't understand why she had done what she had done. It also wasn't as if he couldn't have predicted her actions. She was determined to save Alastair and his parents no matter the cost. The problem was, it would be one hell of a cost – in fact, one he didn't think she would be able to stomach.

They had travelled all over the British Isles, Ireland, the European mainland. They'd even been as far as western Russia. There had been rumours and whispers and false reports, but nothing of substance anywhere.

His parents had doubted the wisdom of his decision to accompany one of the people responsible for his expulsion on this fools' errand, but he'd insisted, and they'd then left it alone. With Celestia's money, they'd got far. She paid for lodgings and train tickets and supplies and information. He provided his knowhow. Most of the time, they didn't talk much among themselves. It was draining, to say the least. As the months raced by, they both got more and more frustrated, more and more desperate.

Then, the lucky break had occurred. Finally, someone had been able to provide them with concrete evidence that the frozen heart had been found in the USA. Unfortunately, at the same time, Newt had discovered what Celestia had been hiding from him: what she believed she needed to do to unlock the mystery of the artefact.

The problem was, there was no one opinion on how to get the thing to work once it had been ejected by the _Hiberhus Horridus_. Newt's book had no section about it at all; it was old and mostly written from the perspective of someone who wanted to scare their audience. There were, actually, no books in existence about how to care for magical creatures – only about how to use them or get rid of them.

Therefore, it kind of figured that Celestia would go for the worst solution of all.

It was why he had to stop her before she could do something irreversible, something she'd regret for the rest of her life. Running after her wouldn't help. No, he needed to intercept her, to catch her before she could give into fearmongering and violence, to help her do the right thing.

Lives depended on it.

* * *

 **4** **It turned out that six days had passed since Tina had mysteriously lost consciousness** in New York City. That was almost an entire week. She knew that people had been out for longer, depending on the extent of their injuries or the severity of the curse they'd been hit with, but the thought of having had no agency at all, of having been oblivious of everything for that long was ungodly creepy – horrifying, actually.

Daylight was making way for dusk on the sixth day when she woke up. Now, she was downstairs in what turned out to be some kind of guesthouse, eating a hearty dinner. Tina had never been picky about food, despite her sister's amazing skill at cooking, but today, they could have served her anything and she would have wolfed it down with the same gusto. The landlady – a surprisingly young woman with limited English skills – told her that her clothes were being cleaned and would be returned to her soon. The woman couldn't tell Tina, however, where her wand had gone.

So here she was, in a village smack in the middle of a vast, dark forest – Grindelwald's hometown, no less – with no wand, no proper clothing, no idea whether she was going to survive the cursed tattoo, surrounded by people who spoke a different language. From what she knew about this place, there were quite a few who spoke at least some English or French, but all they had to do to keep Tina out was to revert to their native tongue. She needed to find out what was going on with the terrorist cell she'd busted back home, what had happened to those who'd escaped, whether Celestia Prewett and her sister had found the frozen heart. It would've been nice if Graves had left her a note with some sort of explanation on it. It would also be nice if she were able to perform wandless magic, like him.

Come to think about it, had he always been able to do that?

She couldn't quite recall.

More than anything, she wanted to reach Queenie and tell her that she was still alive and not doing too badly. Any attempt at getting the monosyllabic Franconian landlady to get her wand back failed. Either the woman honestly didn't know, or she didn't want to know. She was friendly and all, but all of this struck Tina funny. Maybe Graves had requested that she be kept away from any means of doing magic until she was cured. Maybe he didn't trust her not to go traipsing about before her body could handle it.

He'd be right, too.

The thing was, Tina couldn't just sit around doing _nothing_. There was too much going on that she couldn't just ignore. Both Graves and Madam Picquery would remind her that she wasn't the only Auror in the world, and that the fate of humanity didn't rest on her shoulders. Again, they'd be right. Still, sitting around uselessly made her antsy. This whole episode was bound to end in disaster if the right people didn't manage to catch the Prewett sisters before they could wreak havoc with that potential weapon of mass destruction.

Sure, Queenie had said that Celestia Prewett had no ill intent, that she only wanted to save her paramour. The evidence, however, led to a different conclusion. Celestia and her sister had run off together, presumably, since they hadn't been at the barn. The former had even changed wands with her ex-husband so as to avoid being magically tracked. Now, if that wasn't suspicious, nothing was. She needed to be found. She needed to be stopped.

Tina couldn't just sit around and wait for the world to end.

After she'd eaten, the oddly chipper librarian returned, a knitted bag slung over her shoulder. There was snow in her hair. "Ready for your next treatment?" She took off her muddy, snowy boots and left them by the kitchen door. By the dim, orange light of the fireplace, her eyes seemed to shine.

It could just be that Tina was projecting, too. She did that sometimes. "Do you think it'll work?" Her dead arm, held in place by a sling, was starting to drive her crazy – not as crazy as the itch would have, but it was bad enough.

"The treatment is…experimental, but I'm confident, yes," Trolldenier said, smiling, smiling, smiling. The woman was peculiar. "It's gonna sting a bit, though. Maybe I should knock you out."

There was a pang in Tina's stomach. "No," she hurried to say, probably with a little too much vehemence. "No, please. I've been out too long as it is."

Trolldenier squinted at her for a bit, but then smiled again, and nodded. "All right. Let's go upstairs. Wouldn't want to break the lovely décor whilst thrashing in horrible agony, would we?"

Had that been a joke? Tina's throat went dry. Acid shot up from her stomach to the back of her throat. "No." Feeling oddly beside herself, she followed the woman upstairs, into the bedroom she'd woken up in.

"Sit on the bed. Let me take off the bandage."

After Tina did as instructed, Trolldenier carefully removed both sling and dressing. There was probably no need to be this cautious, though. The arm was dead. Tina couldn't feel a thing.

For a while, Trolldenier rummaged inside her bag, until she found a small flask containing a viscous, black liquid. She unscrewed the top, careful not to touch the contents of the flask, then pulled her wand from one of her dress's pockets and made a pained face at Tina. "Like I said, this might sting a bit. I really should knock you out, dear – for your own good."

Even though she always tried not to think of that awful subject, these words reminded her of her parents' illness. They'd gone through all sorts of painful experimental treatments, as well. Tina's stomach lurched. She shifted her weight, uncomfortable. The bedsprings creaked. "Just tell me the truth."

Trolldenier seemed to consider this, but then, she nodded. "All right. Brace yourself. This is gonna hurt like all hell." With a flick of her wand, she pulled a strand of the black liquid from the flask and let it fly across the room and settle on Tina's arm. The oily drops coiled around her, then spread, covering her skin in a shiny black layer.

"I don't feel…" But then she did feel it. Her arm burst into black flames. Before she could even draw breath to scream, a spell hit her square in the chest and she lost consciousness. It was for the best, maybe even for the greater good.

* * *

 **5** **When Tina woke up, it wasn't like the previous time.** No, this time, she regained all of her consciousness, all at once, waking up with a jolt as if struck by lightning. She found herself sitting upright, breathing hard, feeling as if she really had been lightning-struck. Her skin felt sore, like that one time she'd gotten a bad sunburn during that one weekend the whole family had spent in Atlantic City. What…where was she, what had…what…

Oh. The curse. That weird, smiling witch. Franconia. Black flames.

Stomach cramping and heart thundering, she raised her left arm – wasn't dead anymore. It was bandaged, though. No itch – a good sign! But it hurt. Hurt as if it been burned. That was because it had. She rolled her eyes at herself. How long had she slept this time? Her thoughts were a little fuzzy, and her body felt heavy, but the vague itching sensation was gone. With care, she peered under the bandage. When she saw that there were no vines, she half exhaled, half sobbed her relief and let herself drop backwards on the mattress. The treatment had worked! She was cured.

A good long while passed until she had herself under control again.

This whole thing begged the question, didn't it? Why was she even here? How did a Franconian librarian know how to treat a ludicrously specific curse that someone had been hit with on the other side of the planet? Yes, the local university was famous for its humungous library, true. But still, something about the circumstances was suspicious. Also, where was her wand?

She worked herself up to a sitting position, looked down at herself, and saw that she was wearing a different nightgown. It was night, too, wasn't it? It was dark outside; the only source of light was the smouldering fireplace. This would be a great spot for tourism if it weren't for the whole Grindelwald thing, no doubt. Then again, one couldn't blame an entire region for one bad apple. There was no proof that everyone here – or even the majority – supported the town's most infamous son.

Besides, as strange as the librarian's mannerisms struck Tina, the woman had saved her life. Ethel Partridge would be so upset. Feeling a little rotten, Tina had to laugh softly at the thought. No, it wasn't nice. But hey, failing to kill one's enemies was an occupational hazard for these wizard superiority fanatics, wasn't it? Still, the feeling of amusement melted away when Tina remembered that she herself had killed Ares Malfoy.

He had probably not been a very nice person, no.

That didn't change the fact that she had taken a life, and that there was a price to pay for killing, even in self-defence.

She got to her feet – her legs were less wobbly than last time, which was good – and decided to explore this room a little. There was a closet. Her clothes were not inside, only extra bedding and a few towels. Damn it. But Tina wouldn't be Tina if she let lack of proper clothing stop her from pursuing her goals. Maybe the landlady would know where Tina's clothes were now. Hell, maybe she'd even get her wand back. There was no more reason to keep her here. She was cured. She could get back to work.

Downstairs, there was no-one. There was a fire crackling happily in the living room's big fireplace, but the place itself was empty. Weird. When she saw that there were coats and knitted scarfs hanging from the coatrack at the front entrance, and an assortment of boots piled under it, she decided to go do some reconnoitring. She wasn't stealing anything, only borrowing, and only because she needed answers. The pair of boots she picked were a bit large, but all right. The coat was heavy wool – a bit scratchy on her bare arms, but warm. She slung a green scarf around her neck, up to her nose, pulled the coat's hood over her head, and headed into the cold night.

Outside, it was silent – not just quiet, but silent. Snow was still falling, coating the whole world in white, making the cobblestone streets slippery.

How strange it was to walk around without a wand.

Beyond the village, the forest loomed – the forest and the Drachenstein castle, which housed the university. All her life, Tina had wanted to visit this place, and now, she couldn't wait to leave it. It was all about timing, really. Like the village surrounding Hogwarts, Albenheim was entirely magical. No-Majs couldn't find it; in fact, it was said that no-one who wasn't welcome would be able to. That, though, was a rumour Tina refused to believe in. People had a predilection for making things scarier and more mystical than they really were. Right now, she could do with less awe and fear and with more practical solutions to her little predicament.

That was when she came across what looked like the public square. It had a well in the middle and was surrounded by taller stone buildings – administrative, no doubt. Most windows in most buildings were dark. There was, however, something that looked like a pub or an inn or something of the sort. Warm light shone out its windows and through the door cracks. The closer Tina got to it, the better she could hear chatter, laughter, and even music. This place was basically the polar opposite of New York City, wasn't it? A small village where everyone knew everyone else and they all met at night at the same inn.

A little voice inside her head warned her against just going inside, unprepared, but she told herself that that was silly. These people were not her enemies. One of them had treated her, another was sheltering her. Being hostile to them just because they were Grindelwald's compatriots would be unfair, not to mention bigoted and prejudiced. Nobody was perfect, but Tina did try to not let her judgment be clouded by unfounded biases.

After taking a deep breath, she pulled open the inn's door (it probably had a completely different designation in German) and stepped inside. Immediately, she relaxed. The air was warm and dry and smelled of roasted meat and spices. The place was packed. Not only around the bar were droves of people. All the tables were occupied, too. In the far corner, someone was playing a violin. This was nice, wasn't it? After pulling down the hood of her coat and getting the scarf out of her face, she approached the bar.

A thin man of perhaps forty was standing there, chatting with patrons he clearly knew. When he saw Tina, he cracked a smile and approached her. A few of the patrons watched her, probably curious to see a stranger.

"Welcome, welcome," the barman (presumably the proprietor) said, pronouncing it 'vellcomm'. He had long, brown hair pulled back by a dark ribbon and looked like someone transported straight from the eighteenth century. "You are Tina, right? You are coming from America?"

She blinked at him for about two seconds, but then nodded. "Yes, I'm American." It was hard to resist the impulse to correct him, but she didn't want to be obnoxious. Besides, he at least spoke some English, whilst she knew nothing but her own native language and some mongrel Latin used for spells. "I…I need to find a woman called Blanche Trolldenier. I think she has my wand."

"Oh, yes, yes," he said, and waved off. "Soon, she will be here. We all come here tonight. It is a fête." When he obviously saw the lack of understanding on her face, he twirled his hands in a seemingly international gesture of what's-that-word-again. "A party?"

"Ah. Yes, party."

"You are staying? Party with us tonight."

"I don't have any money on me."

"For you as honoured guest, it's on the house. You drink beer? Sure you do. Only bathtub moonlight in America. That's no good." Without waiting for a reply, he drew beer – it was brown and foamy and unlike anything Tina had ever seen – into a pint glass, it looked like, and placed it before her on the bar.

Again, she resisted the urge to tell him it was 'moonshine', not 'moonlight'. "Thank you." She raised the pint to her lips and took a sip. It was a little bitter, but also pretty sweet, and tasted unlike anything she'd ever known. It was _amazing_. Her stomach growled. How long hadn't she eaten? Better not to drink too quickly. "So what are you celebrating?" She had to almost yell. The ambient noise level was pretty high, though the voices were less nasal than she was used to. That was an effect of the language, of course. Unlike English, it sounded lower-pitched, throaty, and somewhat rough – not unpleasantly so; only different.

The barman cracked a toothy, warm, charming smile. "Someone important is returning home – one of us."

Tina noticed that more people were surreptitiously watching her. That was nothing suspicious in and of itself. After all, one had to assume that not many strangers stayed in the village, and probably even less wandered into this inn or pub or restaurant or whatever it was called by the locals. Still, she tensed up a bit. "Really?"

"Yes," the barman said amiably. "Drink. It's good for you. You're looking pale."

Feeling a little silly, she just looked down into the glass, frowning.

That was when a voice behind her said, in English not the least bit accented, "They're not trying to poison you, Miss Goldstein. These are good people."

Slowly, she turned around. "I wasn't thinking that-" Her words got stuck in her throat as she froze when she saw who had addressed her. Here she was, in the middle of the Franconian forest, surrounded by strangers, wandless, face to face with Gellert Grindelwald.


	29. Prince of a Thousand Enemies

**A/N:** **As always, apologies for the huge delay. I got in over my head a bit, but am back on track now. All stories will be finished, this one first (before the second film ruins everything with its pesky canon - kidding, of course). There is a thinly-veiled Richard Adams ( _Watership Down_ ) reference in here, right at the end.  
**

* * *

 **Prince of a Thousand Enemies**

 **1** **As Ronny snuck Celestia into his London flat** – a nice, modern place that overlooked Diagon Alley, specifically the Leaky Cauldron – she felt an ugly sting of embarrassment: he was risking so much for Alastair, for her, and she didn't even know what team he played for. Shame on her. Luckily, she saw a large banner above the fireplace (its mantelpiece displaying several trophies) depicting the pale blue and silver colours of the Appleby Arrows. For a brief moment, she considered admitting her ignorance to him, but then her fearfulness got the better of her. Why hurt him by admitting that she hadn't even thought about Ronny ever since they'd all graduated from Hogwarts? That she'd been so caught up in her stupid little drama that she'd done nothing but navel gaze and feel sorry for herself? It seemed that everyone was a better friend than her, and…

…oh, for crying out loud! Here she was, at it yet _again_! Ridiculous.

"You have a lovely place, Ronny," she said, settling down on the silver-blue ottoman that faced the fireplace. "Really lovely. It pays to be an extraordinary athlete."

Ronny, who'd headed to a stately liquor cabinet and was pouring both of them a shot of fire whiskey, glanced at her over his shoulder, beaming. It lit up his face and made him look healthy and happy.

Thankfully, they had both only regressed to their real shapes once they'd made it inside the flat.

"Thank you. You're too nice, you know – always have been." He ambled back and handed her one of the glasses, before sitting down to her left. "When I get back to playing, I'll get you and Alastair tickets – when we play the Wimbourne Wasps."

"Your traditional rivals, I assume?" she said, falling back on her old and trusted friend: the artificial smile. It would be better to tell him that he was mistaken, wouldn't it? Maybe not. Maybe that would only bring the conversation around to her (yet) again.

Trying to be a good person was confusing.

"I remember you not knowing much about Quidditch," he said, good-humoured, and toasted her. "Happy days, Celestia, and don't worry. All will be well." He drank.

"Cheers," she said, and took a sip. The whiskey tasted _amazing_. It stung, naturally, and was both sweet and spicy. It warmed her, from her lips down to her stomach. Immediately, she relaxed. Best to drink slowly, and not too much. After all, she hadn't eaten in a while. Speaking of which… "Ronny, could I bother you for something to eat? I'm starving."

His smile broadened, crinkling the skin around his eyes. "You're hungry again! That's a good sign. It means you're finally starting to believe that we might actually make it."

"I dearly hope you're right," she said, thinking that that wasn't it at all. No. This was the home straight, make or break. There was no more reason to be nervous. For good or ill, this would all be over soon.

* * *

 **2** **When Grindelwald invited Tina to sit with him and have some dinner,** she thought about being stupid noble and refusing, but decided against it. In the end, being stupid noble almost always resulted in one being stupid noble dead. Now, Tina had gotten herself into all sorts of near-fatal pickles, and she always did what she thought was right despite her fears. There was, however, no sense in carelessly throwing one's life away.

Odds were, her life was about to end, anyway.

Grindelwald led her to a corner table at the back of the inn.

It was nice: soft yellow light, a window overlooking the snowed-in town square and the castle at the horizon.

She sat down opposite him, still clinging to her pint of dark beer (ale? She had no idea).

He had the gall to actually smile at her – not sneer, not smirk, not grin: smile, like they were friends.

Unbelievable.

"Is there anything you don't eat?" he said, as he motioned to a waiter, or whatever that kind of job in this kind of place was called.

"No, I'm not picky," she said, thinking of her sister's world-class cooking. Suddenly, she was almost overwhelmed by the intense desire to just be back at home, in her brownstone, having dinner with Queenie. She steadied herself by taking a sip out of her pint. One had to admit, the beer or ale or whatever was really, really great.

Quickly, Grindelwald ordered something in German. When the waiter absconded, he focussed his eyes (was one darker than the other, or was the dim lighting only playing a trick on her?) on her again. "I'm glad to see you healed. That was a terrible curse you were under."

"It was."

He arched his fair, thin eyebrows. "You still think I'm going to kill you, don't you?" When she didn't reply, he leaned back and snickered. An almost dreamy expression on his face, he looked outside at the picturesque scenery, before scratching the side of his nose and facing her again. He threw up his hands. "Why would we take you in, shelter you, _cure_ you – only to murder you? That makes no sense, Miss Goldstein."

"So you're claiming everyone here works for you?"

Again, he snickered. "Work for me? No. But most of us do share a common goal, and even if Miss Trolldenier doesn't, do you think many people would be able to stop me if I wanted you dead?"

She sat straight and faced him without flinching. "You're the one who said 'we'."

Waving off, he said, "I meant my fellow Franconians. Miss Goldstein, if I wished you harm, you would know it by now. I don't. Your superiors sent you here in good faith, knowing that this was your only chance. No-one here wants a bright witch such as yourself to die a pointless, not to mention horrible death. Your safety is guaranteed under the circumstances of your arrival."

That…okay, she had to admit that it caught her by surprise. "Are you saying my superiors negotiated a ceasefire in order to get me cured?"

"No, not a negotiation. More of a" – He spread his arms – "silent understanding. You're safe here…as long as you don't go snooping around for the rest of your stay. I shouldn't need to tell you what will happen to you if you decide to break the rules yet again."

Behind her, there was laughter. The violin music picked up. China clattered. Glasses clinked. It was nice in here, there was no denying that. She said, "Did nobody accompany me from New York? That seems unlikely to me."

Infuriatingly, he seemed amused. "Your boss was very worried about you. He cares, even though you obviously annoy him. You should be grateful that he isn't just a competent wizard, but also a politician. If it weren't for him, you'd be on your way to insanity and death right now."

Tina's stomach cramped. A chill slithered down her spine. "Where is he?"

"That information is above your paygrade, as the expression goes," he said, smiling again. Seemed like this shmuck was a serial smiler. How irritating. "He'll be back to pick you up tomorrow, so don't worry."

"Easier said than done." She made herself take another sip of her beer. "One of your friends poisoned me, Mister Grindelwald, so don't expect me to buy into your selfless act. If it weren't for her, neither Graves nor I would be here, in the first place."

"Don't be too sure of that. There's more going on behind the curtains than you know." He waited for a reply that didn't come. After a few seconds, he shrugged. "You'll be on your way back home tomorrow, Miss Goldstein. Don't cause more trouble than you already have. Just go home and count your blessings. You're lucky to be alive."

Her throat constricted. Her mouth felt cottony. Her hands were cold, even though she'd started to sweat under the coat she'd filched at the guesthouse. Before she could find the right words to say, the waiter arrived with their food.

Tina's thoughts were spinning. This whole affair was, in the end, a lot bigger than she had feared. Maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew, but now, she was involved. There was no simple 'going home and staying out of trouble'. She couldn't just pretend that the world wasn't changing. Right now, though, all she could hope was that Percival Graves was safe and sound.

* * *

 **3** **Unbelievable, wasn't it?** Tia's transformation. Little Celestia, shy and quiet and somewhat craven. Tia, always the follower, never the leader. Nocturna always thought that her sister made for the perfect Malfoy wife: meek and conformed; possibly miserable, yet always resigned to her fate. And now, _look_ at her! Celestia Prewett, rebel witch!

Well, Nocturna would look at her if she could, but Tia had listened to that stupid oaf Petronius Flint and fled. Now, she almost surely was in possession of the frozen heart and en route to England. For all her unexpected perseverance and desperate bravado, Tia was weirdly selfish and petty. There was a certain sense of irony in the whole debacle, was there? When they had been younger, Tia had always been so eager to eat up the whole 'family duty' nonsense, always so selfless - at least in her own mind. That was why she'd married Apollo Malfoy in the first place.

Nocturna, on the other hand, had always had a reputation as stubborn, rebellious, and self-centred. She'd openly defied parental decrees, had refused to enter in a political marriage, had chosen a profession that her family disapproved of.

Now, though, Nocturna was the one willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good, and Celestia was doing what was best for Celestia. How could she be so _selfish_? Yes, sure, she loved that little fool Alastair Fawley, but so what? The love of all wizardkind weighed so much more. Individuals were worthless without the collective. Surely Celestia must understand this! Gellert Grindelwald was a visionary. He would lead the wizarding world to new glory. In order for that to happen, everyone needed to sacrifice something. It was, after all, for the greater good.

Enough bemoaning one's own personal tragedies, though.

Nocturna had wanted to try Apparating across the Atlantic, but Leta had refused on the grounds of it being all but impossible. Therefore, Nocturna had grudgingly agreed to travel in disguise via ocean liner. The bad news was that Celestia had a head start. The good news was that Leta was connected. There was no way Celestia would be able to get to the Fawleys with only Ronny bloody Flint for backup.

There wasn't. There couldn't be.

Everything would be fine.

Nocturna would see to it. She would not let her brothers and sisters down - her real brothers and sisters.

It was up to Tia to decide where her true loyalties lay, for good or for evil.

* * *

 **4** **Just by reading the paper,** Newt could tell that the whole frozen heart disaster was about to come to a sudden and violent conclusion. A terrorist attack on MACUSA, confrontations between Aurors and supposed Grindelwald supporters, the rumoured death of a Pureblood English wizard, several arrests, a patch of forest that had apparently been shock frosted, an international search for the Prewett sisters; it all only led to a single conclusion: Celestia had found the frozen heart, and now everyone and their Niffler was after it. Needless to say, the Grindelwald supporters must be prevented from getting their hands on the artefact at all costs.

At the same time, Celestia herself needed to be both kept apart from those murderous fanatics and prevented from causing terrible destruction in a misguided attempt to save Alastair.

But how to do it? How to salvage such a complicated, nigh-on hopeless situation, such an unholy _mess_? Newt wasn't much of a team player, entirely by choice, and he would rather take care of these problems by himself. He couldn't, though. God knew he'd tried, but at this point, he had to admit defeat. It was time to bite the galleon.

It was time to ask his brother for help.

Oh, dear.

Newt hadn't had a proper conversation with Theseus for…what, months? More like years. It wasn't as if they'd had some sort of dramatic fallout or anything; after all, they weren't Malfoys or any of that ilk. Newt's family didn't have much of a penchant for drama. Theseus was more comfortable moving in high-ranking Pureblood circles than Newt could ever hope to be (or wanted to), but he still wasn't melodramatic per se.

Still. _Still_. As overall better as Newt liked to fancy himself, neither he nor his family were exempt from histrionic nonsense. Here he was, pouting because he resented his brother. Truth be told, he'd started resenting Theseus long before the whole Leta fiasco, though that didn't exactly help any. No, it did not help a single bit.

The reality was…well, what was it? That their relationship was complicated? That they loved each other even though they disapproved of each other? That one couldn't really understand the other's choice of career? That they simply had chosen different paths? Yes. Yes, all of that. All of that and Leta. Newt wouldn't say that it all came down to her, because that was both far from the truth and unfair, but she did play her part in the estrangement of the brothers. At school, she had been Newt's…well, something. Friend. Something other than a friend. Not quite a sweetheart, but close. Then, disaster had struck, and they'd grown apart. She had built a connection with Theseus, and found that they had much more in common than she could ever have with Newt.

That was the root of the whole issue, really, and not Leta, whose worst crime had been acting like a child when she'd still been one: that Newt and Theseus simply didn't have much in common. Theseus was formidable. He was a war hero. He was a figure of authority. He was popular. He was a politician. He knew how to play the game, whereas Newt didn't – nor did Newt have any inclination to do so, if he were to be perfectly honest. The same went for the current catastrophe. If he could, he'd take care of it all by himself, but he was forced to admit that he was in over his head. There was no way that he'd manage to disentangle the whole mess by himself: keep the frozen heart out of the Grindelwald fanatics' hands, keep Celestia Prewett from making a deadly mistake, save an innocent and endangered beast. If it were just him and Celestia involved, then it wouldn't be so horribly complicated.

There was nothing for it, though.

Therefore, he contacted his brother's office (how pompous) and got himself an appointment. That was a tad ridiculous, wasn't it? That he needed an appointment with Theseus in order to have an actual conversation with him.

Then again, he'd avoided actual conversations with Theseus for a good long while.

They wrote each other on occasion, when Newt was abroad, but that was basically it.

Now, Newt was sitting in the anteroom to his brother's office, waiting to be called inside.

About five minutes went by before the door was opened and a handsomely smiling Theseus appeared in the doorframe. "Brother! Please, come in."

Only barely keeping himself from asking why he'd been kept waiting in the first place (it'd be unfair, and he knew it), Newt got up to his feet and followed suit. Inside the office – spacious, bright, modern, clean, and rather sterile – he took a seat before the heavy desk.

His brother settled down opposite him, smiling. "It's so good to see you! You look well – and so cleaned up!"

That was obviously meant to be a joke, so Newt made himself smile. It probably didn't look like much, though. "You look well, too."

"Thank you." A small, rather heavy silence ensued. Finally, Theseus pressed his fist to his lips and discreetly cleared his throat. He leaned back and started drumming on the arms of his chair with his fingertips. "So what can I do for you?"

Getting right to the heart of the matter without unnecessary small-talk was just what Newt wanted, really. Their parents had taught both of them that. "You probably know that I spent almost a year travelling with Celestia Prewett, looking for the one thing that could save the Fawley family."

For a few seconds, Theseus just beheld him with a slight frown on his face, but then, he nodded. "Yes. She ditched you in Athens."

Not a nice way to put it, was that? "She thinks that there's only one way to make the frozen heart work, but she's mistaken. I know how to save the Fawleys without causing any more damage." He hoped that for once, he'd find the right words and manage to convince his brother to help him. "If Celestia hasn't already made her way back to England, then she must be on her way, and-"

"Why would you think that? Did she contact you?" Theseus's cold tone of voice was a bit like a slap to the face.

Newt recoiled. "What? No. I-"

"Then how do you know that she's back home?"

Sometimes, it was just so…oh, so _draining_ to be in the same room with Theseus. Newt took a deep breath, fidgeted with his Hufflepuff scarf (a gift from his mother), and collected himself. It was vital that he keep his cool. He looked his brother in the eye and said, "Theseus, I'm not your enemy, nor am I in league with your enemies. But I'm not an idiot, either. I can draw conclusions, and it seems to me that the only conclusion left to draw is that Celestia has found the frozen heart and is now on her way to her sweetheart."

Theseus remained impassive. "She's allied herself with Gellert Grindelwald, Newton."

Newton? Oh, oh. Things _must_ be deadly serious. "No, she didn't. All she cares about is saving Alastair Fawley. The furthest thing from her mind is getting involved with terrorists."

"And you know this how?"

Suddenly, Newt just felt so horribly, devastatingly tired. He shrugged. "Because I'm her friend."

"After she helped get you tossed out of school?" Theseus arched his eyebrows.

"What kind of person would I be if I insisted on holding a grudge after so many years? No matter what she's done, that's not the kind of person I want to be."

"But you're fine with holding a grudge against my future wife."

Future wife? Wow, things _must_ be serious. That was a lot of musts.

Meanwhile, it was all Newt could do not to slap his hands to his face and groan with frustration. He just shrugged again, helpless. "Could you _please_ just listen to me?"

For a moment, Theseus just stared at him, jaw set and eyes narrowed. Then, he relaxed. There was a subtle flush of colour on his cheeks. "Of course."

"Thank you." Newt scratched his forehead and nodded. "Theseus, Celestia is not working with the Grindelwald fanatics. I know that. I know _her_. She may have used them to get to the frozen heart, but _their_ goals are not _her_ endgame. She's hell-bent on saving the Fawleys."

"So what do you want from me?"

"I…" He took a deep breath. Outside, the sun was shining. Birds were singing. It was a lovely day. Newt's heart was heavy. "I don't want her to get lumped in with terrorists. That would only lead to more death and destruction. We need to help her save Alastair and his family and at the same time prevent Grindelwald from getting his hands on the frozen heart."

Theseus let this all sink in for about half a minute. Finally, he shook his head. "Even if you're right, and she's not working for Grindelwald, I can't just let her waltz into the Fawley home and experiment on a potential weapon of mass destruction."

This was exactly what Newt had expected, wasn't it? He chewed on his lower lip. Losing his composure would be disastrous. He leaned in and placed his folded hands on the cool desktop. "If you try to stop her, all you'll do is force her hand."

"So what do you suggest I do? Hm? Roll out a welcome mat?" Theseus's wit was often a source of hilarity, at least to people who hadn't grown up with him.

"Let me _help_ her, Theseus. I can get the frozen heart to work without further destruction. We can save lives and keep the heart away from those who'd use it to cause harm."

Again, Theseus arched his eyebrows. He looked as unconvinced as humanly possible. "You know how to use it?"

"I do." Truth be told, he only believed he did, but Theseus didn't need to know that. The conversation was going ill enough as it was.

Theseus looked out the window, pressed his lips together, shook his head, and faced his brother again. "No."

"Theseus…"

"No. I can't turn a blind eye on this going on faith, Newt! What were you even thinking, coming here?" He chuckled. "Did you honestly believe you could convince me to just let a potential terrorist walk into a house and blow up a weapon of mass destruction? That's preposterous, _ridiculous_ , even for you!"

The silence that ensued was so thick, one would be able to cut it with a knife.

"Even for me," Newt echoed quietly, after what felt like nine eternities. He meant to protest, to try to talk sense into Theseus, but it would be no good.

Theseus had that look on his face – that _look_. It was hard to describe, really. It was that stonewall expression that meant someone could offer the best arguments to a person, but that the person in question would not listen, come hell or high water. Trying to convince a person with that look on their face was just a waste of breath.

The problem was that Theseus had a bit of a point. From his point of view, it wouldn't make any sense to just trust the word of his hare-brained, strange little brother, especially since all the facts spoke against it.

Still, it hurt. It wasn't in any way surprising to Newt, no, but still, it _hurt_. He pushed back his chair and pushed himself to his feet. How heavy he felt – heavy and old.

Theseus blew out a heavy breath. "Newt, I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right. I know what I am. You can think what you like. It changes nothing."

"Don't do anything stupid." Sounding as if it took an effort, he added, "Please."

"Don't worry. I'm not stupid, you know. I'm just ridiculous." Without waiting for a reply, Newt turned around on the heels of his worn-out shoes and walked away. Part of him hoped that Theseus would follow him, force a dialogue, but of course that didn't happen.

Maybe the mess they were all in was unsolvable, but still, he'd try. It wasn't as if he had a choice. As he stepped into the fireplace that would take him back home, he realised that from this moment on, Theseus was against him. Newt wouldn't give up on Celestia, the Fawleys, or the poor and innocent _hibernus horridus_. Politics were complicated, the whole Grindelwald situation was complicated, and Theseus did have a bit of a point, yes, but what choice did Newt have? He had to try to stop an even greater catastrophe from happening.

Theseus, of course, would do what he had to.

They all would.

Everyone except for Newt seemed to operate under the assumption that carnage was inevitable, but it wasn't. The situation could be salvaged.

He _knew_ it.

The problem was, in the end, that almost everyone wanted to catch Celestia and take the frozen heart away from her before she could use it. At the moment, almost all the world was her enemy. Should they catch her, then there would be blood.

He supposed the same was true of himself, now. If either the Aurors or the Grindelwald supporters caught him trying to trigger the frozen heart, they would shoot without warning.

If they caught him.

But first, they had to catch him.

He needed to find Celestia Prewett.

* * *

 **5** **Things being as they were,** Celestia dearly wished she'd made at least a small effort to improve her broom flying skills during her Hogwarts days. As she stood on that windswept, harsh yet beautiful Scottish plain, watching the rehearsal of Ronny's plan unfold, her hair in her face, she had a million questions, a million doubts swirling in her poor skull.

Could this work? How ridiculous was this idea? How absurd? How dangerous? How in the name of all that was good and holy would someone as inept at sports as Celestia be able to do her own part in all this? To pull her weight? Was it all right to allow Ronny to put himself in danger like this, to pull others into this maelstrom of madness?

Had Alastair's flair for drama rubbed off on her?

So many questions, so little time.

That was the problem, really – the most pressing one: there wasn't enough time. In less than a week, Alastair and his parents would die, unless Celestia and Ronny succeeded. Their days were running out. There was only one chance to succeed here – one.

The whole world was against her, against Ronny, against Alastair.

They'd make it, though. The plan would work. It had to.

It had to.


	30. Upon Your Journey

**A/N : There are a few references in here: 'Watership Down' by Richard Adams, 'You Know My Name' by Chris Cornell, 'The Journey' by Chris de Burgh.**

* * *

 **Upon Your Journey**

 **1925**

 **1** **The entire plan hinged on impeccable timing,** on stealth, and on the element of surprise. These were all qualities that Petronius Flint, captain of the Appleby Arrows, possessed in abundance. If Celestia had paid any attention to him during their Hogwarts years, she would've known this about him. He wasn't just an extraordinary athlete; no, he was also a natural leader and really good and organising things. After all, he'd made it to the frozen heart before anyone else…well, after he got rid of the shady contact person, that was.

Ronny Flint had actually killed another human being.

Didn't matter, did it? In the grand scheme of things?

One might even say he'd done it for the greater good.

What _did_ actually matter was that he had found the frozen heart, that he had found Celestia, that he'd helped her all the way back to England, that he'd thought up the only viable plan that could possibly lead to success.

All her life, Celestia had been relatively contented with simply letting the flow of life carry her along. Most of the time, she let other people make all the big decisions for her: from her piano lessons to her husband, really. Only for the past year had she started making the tough decisions, and all of it hadn't even started because of her. No, Alastair had convinced poor, put-upon Newt to trick Celestia into a confrontation. That blasted ice monster had frozen up Alastair and his parents and forced Celestia to do _something_.

This was a disconcerting realisation to come to, wasn't it? That all this time, she had only ever reacted to circumstances, never _acted_.

In her head, Alastair protested. 'Never even think it, o glorious mistress of my heart!' he'd dramatically intone, throwing up his hands and nearly hitting her by accident for good measure. Then, realising that she was being serious, he'd add, 'We're all victims of circumstance, Tia, but when you had to, you were brave, even though the whole world was your enemy.'

It was a little bit funny, wasn't it, that she knew him so well that she couldn't make him say something in her mind that would actually reassure her? After all, he loved her and always interpreted her actions in the best light. On the other hand, she'd realised that she had a bit of a self-important streak and liked feeling sorry for herself; a malady the best of them suffered from, surely. In the end, it didn't even matter much, did it? All that mattered was that she had to be brave now – brave, smart, and strong. Nothing else would do. Her decisions had led her up to this point, and now, she needed to make the best of the situation by pushing through her fears, doubts, and natural lethargy.

Alastair depended on her, as did his parents.

She supposed that was the actual crux, the core of her hesitant nature: fear of responsibility and, consequently, fear of failure. As she sat before the fireplace inside what Ronny – and quite the adventurer he was, it turned out – called the safe house, all these thoughts whirled through her head. It was more than nice, this house, built right by Loch Katrine, magically hidden from prying eyes.

The house belonged to the best beater on Ronny's team, a tall, handsome fellow called Alfred Domingo. That one, as well of all the others Ronny had recruited for his insane plan, was cheerfully unafraid. It seemed to be a career choice with them, really. Then again, it shouldn't be in any way surprising. They were, after all, professional Quidditch players, who were by definition insane – brilliant, but definitely insane.

Celestia had felt obliged to tell all of them that they were risking their lives, that this was crazy, but they wouldn't have any of it. They told her that they were a team, and that if their captain needed them to risk their necks, then they'd risk their necks – simple as that. She almost protested that this was anything but simple, but then reconsidered. Maybe it wasn't easy, no, but it was simple. There was a distinct difference.

The frozen heart was locked inside a safe with a magic containment field. As a matter of fact, apart from Celestia and Ronny, nobody even knew what was in the mysterious briefcase she had brought with her. All they knew was that they needed to create a big diversion that would allow her to get to the Fawleys and save them. They hadn't asked many questions, keeping to those that were about the implementation of their dastardly scheme. Everything else was, as one of the players had put it, salad dressing.

This was more than a little amusing, given the almost fanatical attention to detail prevalent in Celestia's family – the Black side of the family, at least. The Prewetts weren't as pedantic, but her mother's family? The devil was in the details, indeed.

Not long, now. In less than two days, they'd head over to the Fawley estate and either win or lose it all. Somehow, this was a comforting thought. At least Celestia knew that in not even forty-eight hours, it would all be over, for good or for ill.

* * *

 **2** **Leta and Nocturna met up with Theseus** in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Manchester. It wasn't as if Leta's involvement in illegal affairs was common knowledge, but Nocturna Prewett's most certainly was. It would not do to have her sighted in the company not only of Theseus Scamander, but also Theseus Scamander's fiancée.

The moment Leta and Nocturna both Apparated into the house's dilapidated living room, the former saw Theseus standing there and hurried to throw herself into his arms.

He hugged her tightly around the waist, lifted her up, spun her around, set her down, and kissed her.

Immediately, all tension just fell off of her, and she felt lighter, light as a feather, light as a petal. She laughed, looked at his beautiful (beloved) face, and raked her fingers through his stylishly coiffed, short brown hair. "I feel ten years younger already!"

His expression turned amused. "Well, you better stop de-aging, my love, lest this relationship turn into something that casts a bad light on me."

She beamed – couldn't help it, really – opened her mouth to say-

"Can we cut the corny romance nonsense short and focus on business?" Nocturna cut in dryly, killing the mood.

The other two let go of each other and faced her.

Leave to the rabid fanatic not to have any sense of decorum. Said fanatic cracked a toothy smile, which made her look even more like a deranged leprechaun hopped up on mushrooms, and waved. "Hello!"

Leta and Theseus exchanged a long-suffering look.

He tugged down on his jacket and put that solicitous politician's expression on his face that his brother used to complain – no, not complain about: disapprove of quietly. That had ever been more Newt's style. "Apologies. I know that time is short and that this entire sorry debacle has been very stressful for you."

Nocturna arched her thin eyebrows. "For me?"

"Because of your sister's part in this," Theseus said, still calm, still glib, still solicitous. He was pretty much perfect, really, at least in his fiancée's eyes. "Because of Ares Malfoy."

"Ares Malfoy died for the cause, as a hero. As for my sister, she made her choice. I stand by mine. If you're expecting me to have a nervous breakdown, think again," Nocturna said, bony arms crossed, watery-blue eyes narrowed, reddish blotches on her freckled cheeks. Her carroty hair – more orange than red, really – was dishevelled and frankly made her look like she'd been hit by lightning.

Well, Leta had never claimed to be in any way an objective person. That went for her inner monologues, as well. "Would it kill you to be polite?" she said, piqued and not in the least interested in hiding it. To be honest, she had had quite enough of Nocturna's fanaticism and her brusque nature to last two lifetimes. This was too much.

Newt's odd friendship with Celestia Prewett was bad enough.

Now Leta had to grin and bear Celestia's older sister's insufferably self-righteous attitude? Unbelievable.

…but seriously, why was Newt friends with Celestia, of all people (and the name was still stupid, wasn't it? Yes, it was)? Celestia had helped get Newt tossed out of Hogwarts, in the first place! She and that hook-nosed vulture she was so obsessed with – obsessed enough to ruin the entire enterprise! It was actually pretty outrageous. Newt had accused Leta of being selfish and self-centred, had ended their budding relationship because of that. Hell, he had blamed her – blamed her! _Her!_ – for what had happened to him. But Celestia had been at fault, hadn't she? After all, if that silly, shallow girl had had the courage to stop her paramour and his friends from pranking Leta during that fateful Yule Ball, then Leta wouldn't have been obligated to take revenge! And why blame Leta, anyway? After all, she'd only been looking out for herself. It wasn't her fault that Newt was too meek, gullible, and passive to do the same.

But then he went and not only magnanimously forgave Celestia, but also became friends with her. Friends! He was supposed to be Leta's friend. They'd been friends for years, but then Leta did one thing he was too naïve to comprehend, and suddenly, she wasn't worth his time anymore?

Maybe he'd become Celestia's friend because of all the money Alastair Fawley had to sponsor his research.

No.

No, that was unfair.

That was unfair, and she knew it. She knew it. Besides, she was happy. Back then, when she'd made peace with the Slytherins, her whole life had turned around. Everything had become easier. Her social life had improved immensely. She and Theseus had found each other, and were they not much better matched? Both were glamorous, both had their priorities straight, both were willing to fight for the greater good. Leta had to admit that she didn't just like herself in her role as Theseus Scamander's fiancée, even though that was definitely a factor. No, she knew that she genuinely loved him. She also knew that the feeling was quite mutual. They were a match made in heaven, and who knew? Perhaps they wouldn't have got together if Newt hadn't been kicked out of school. Moreover, he seemed happy, too, didn't he? Newt. He was out there, living the dream, getting stuck in the mud saving toads or whatever it was that he loved so much more than he'd ever loved her. They wouldn't have been a good couple. He was way too much into digging up worms and rescuing vermin. She liked to move in different circles. Everything had turned out fine for the both of them, hadn't it?

And yet, the fact that he had become Celestia bloody Prewett's friend stung. It stung right in the heart. All of this shot through her mind in only a few seconds, but it was long enough for an awkward silence to ensue, during which she and Nocturna just glared at each other.

"Tell me, Leta," Nocturna now said, "how did you escape from that barn again when Ares and Ethel didn't? And please, do elaborate on how many times you asked whether anyone knows what's happened to Apollo."

Leta's face got hot. She balled her hands into fists. "You weren't there! You have _no_ right to judge me, you crazy-"

"Ladies, please," Theseus cut in, not losing his cool in the slightest. He gave Nocturna his most dazzling smile, which was a whole lot more than she deserved. "Please. We mustn't fight amongst ourselves. What we need is to take a step back, breathe, and remember that even though we're all stressed out, we are all fighting for the greater good. Besides" – the smile turned slightly impish – "Apollo will be delighted to know how much you worry about him."

Nocturna's eyes grew wide. "You know where he is!"

He nodded and put an arm around Leta's shoulders, steadying her in her anger and outrage. This was another thing that made their relationship so great: flawless non-verbal communication. "He got away, but is still in America on orders. He's going to free Ethel Partridge."

Not that Leta had a lot of love for Apollo, but she still found herself relieved at the good news. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, smiling up at him, her near-explosion already forgotten.

Such was the effect he had on her.

Such was the effect they had on each other.

Nocturna ran her bony fingers through her shaggy, ragged mop of hair, and started pacing. The old, rotten floorboards underneath her feet creaked. There was the faintly unpleasant odour of decay in the dusty air. Through the cracks of unevenly nailed-together boards covering up the largest window, warm yellow light shone inside in slanted beams. Nocturna seemed to notice nothing about their surroundings. "Okay, okay. I'll admit that I'm nervous, just to bury the hatchet. But how could I not be? This entire plan is entirely haphazard, and it's all Tia's fault! All because of _Alastair Fawley!_ " Her face contorted into a mask of disgust. "Selfish. Foolish. _Dangerous_."

"We'll manage," Theseus said, ever unfazed. "We have the entire Fawley estate surrounded. There is no Apparating inside. There is no getting past our patrols. Believe me: we've got this one covered."

Abruptly, Nocturna stopped pacing and swirled around on the heels of her blunt, worn boots. "What about you brother? You know, Tia's friend? _Her_ ex?" She pointed at Leta without looking at her. Rude. "Where is he? Have you taken into account that Tia might have more allies than just that dullard Petronius Flint? There is no way you could _possibly_ have taken all the variables into account, Theseus!"

Wow. Someone did not handle stress well.

This was not how Leta knew her to be, in all honestly.

Prewett Sister the Elder was a rabid follower of Grindelwald who refused to ever compromise, and she was _fearless_.

The only conclusion Leta could come to was that Nocturna was worried about her sister.

That actually made Nocturna more human, didn't it? This vulnerability.

That was something Leta could sympathise with. "Don't worry," she said, trying hard to sound kind. "It'll be all right. We've got each other's backs."

Nocturna's shoulders slumped. Anger seeped from her expression. She nodded slowly and crossed her spindly arms as if she were cold. "I hope to any potentially real god out there that you are right."

They'd see about that, wouldn't he? Soon enough, they would see.

Besides, Theseus was smiling as if he knew something nobody else did – something good. Whatever it was, it didn't even matter that much. Theseus was on their side, and they were on his. That was all that was needed to guarantee victory.

* * *

 **3** **Feeling entirely as if trapped in a fever dream,** Tina allowed herself to be taken back to the guesthouse without protest. Well, she liked to think of herself as not terminally stupid, and kicking up a self-righteous fuss whilst facing impossible odds would be incredibly stupid. Yes, she was sure that she was on the right side of history. Yes, Grindelwald was a murderer and a criminal, and everyone aiding and abetting him was also guilty. But putting honour before reason was inviting death, and Tina wasn't quite ready to die for her beliefs in such a pointless manner. Even if she didn't have a sister to consider, the truth was that she loved living and simply didn't want to die. Should it one day happen during a combat situation, or under circumstances that would make it meaningful, then…well, she'd still be afraid and fighting her survival instinct, but dying for something worthwhile was a good thing – not for her, but for others.

Now, though, all these ruminations were utterly moot.

Truth be told, all of this was nothing but an academic exercise, and she was kidding herself thinking that her moral outrage had any bearing on anything. It might at home, perhaps, but not here, deep in the Franconian forest, smack in the middle of Grindelwald's home town. In truth, all Tina could do was hide under the eiderdown covers inside her room and thank God that Percival Graves had pulled some strings and gotten her healed…

…after she'd brought Ethel Partridge's curse upon herself by disobeying orders.

Yeah.

There was no _not_ feeling guilty about how Graves had made a deal with his sworn enemies in order to save his Auror.

Tina did not want to think about what would have happened to her if she hadn't been taken across the ocean to Franconia to be healed. By now, she'd be going insane, probably wishing for death long before it finally took her.

No. No dwelling on maybes and could-have-beens. That never helped a single bit.

She pulled the covers up almost to her nose, closed her eyes, and tried not to think her gloomy thoughts.

* * *

 **4** **The next morning, she woke up from deep and surprisingly restful sleep.** It had snowed quite a lot during the night. The entire village was covered with snow. Farther away, the conifers bore a cottony blanket. Only Drachenstein Castle loomed, untouched, above all. It was a beautiful, impressive sight; one had to admit that.

She only wished she were here under better circumstances.

At least the curse was completely gone.

Ethel Partridge would not be pleased.

Just thinking about that one made Tina's skin break out in gooseflesh. She crossed her arms, shivered, and kept looking out the window at the peaceful, deceivingly quiet vista spread out before her eyes. It was impossible not to think about the tortured look on Partridge's face, about her little speech concerning love and loss…

…about Ares Malfoy's dead body on some godforsaken field in the middle of nowhere.

Ares Malfoy was dead because of Tina.

Well, to be accurate, Ares Malfoy was dead because of Ares Malfoy, but technically, Tina had ended his life. She hadn't had much time to come to terms with this, either. Yes, yes, she'd been fighting for her life, and if she hadn't killed Malfoy, Malfoy would have killed her, not to mention Queenie.

And still.

And _still_.

A man was dead. Tina had taken his life.

If a person took a life, they couldn't know what they themselves might lose. Odds were, it was nothing savoury.

Odds were, one could risk losing a piece of one's soul.

Again, she shivered, this time more violently. It was better not to think about it now, about what consequences it might have to remove a human being from the face of the Earth, of what kind of cosmic fallout this might potentially cause, of the pain and grief caused among the living – loved ones who had done nothing to deserve this kind of breath-taking, gut-punching torment.

Now, she needed to focus on what was happening at this moment, about her own situation, about the political implications, about how close to the brink the wizarding world was right now. Had she really had dinner with Gellert Grindelwald last night? Had she really been carted off from New York to the depths of Franconia, whilst knocked out, to be cured of a (fatal) curse by a wizarding supremacist librarian? Where the heck was her wand? Her _clothes?_

She shook her head. Time to get out of here.

There was a crisp knock on the door.

"Come in!" She turned around to face whoever the newcomer might be. Truth be told, there wasn't much that could still surprise her.

The door was opened. Inside stepped one Percival Graves, carrying in a bundle in his arms: her clothes.

The weight of the world fell off her shoulders at the sight of him…the feeling quickly being soured by a stomach cramp of guilt. "Sir, I just wanted to apologise for everything that-"

"Don't. Just leave it." He dropped the bundle on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tina, Tina, Tina." When he threw up his hands, he wore the most exasperated look on his face that she'd ever seen him sport. "Why can't you, just for once, stay quiet in your corner? Not even after barely surviving a curse can you just stay in bed and wait. Couldn't you just, I don't know, extrapolate that I'd somehow arranged all this and that, therefore, I would want you to keep a low profile in what's technically enemy territory?"

A heavy silence ensued.

She hugged her arms tighter to her upper body. "I didn't know what was going on. I needed to gather more information. I didn't know where you were, how I'd gotten here, how-"

"If I hadn't negotiated a very delicate ceasefire with these people, you would be dead now – dead or dying in indescribable agony." He rubbed his forehead and shook his head, before exhaling sharply. "Tina, I'm gonna explain something to you, and you're gonna listen – really listen. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You see: there is a little something called compromise. Sometimes, we need to turn a blind eye on evil so that we can live to fight another day. This is all part of our rules of engagement. Don't just look at the immediate consequences of letting something slide that goes against your own moral code. Look at the bigger picture. What good would it do anyone if you died being heroically stupid? None. None at all. That's politics. You may not like it, but that's how it works."

"Okay, Mister Graves, I get that I messed up a bit, and that we need to get out of here in one piece, but once we're out of Franconia, we need to get to England. I'm positive that Grindelwald is planning something-"

"You're going home – today, in fact."

There was a pang in her stomach. "Excuse me?"

He just watched her, impassive, standing by the door, arms crossed. "You heard me. You're taking the train to Hamburg, and then you're leaving on a No-Maj ocean liner."

"You're not coming with me?"

"No. I will head to England in order to explain to the Minister of Magic why we allowed British citizens to escape our custody – citizens we'd promised to extradite. I also have to explain to them why one of their most distinguished Pureblood wizards is dead – killed by an Auror who was acting against orders. That's only one of the reasons you can't come with me. I'm sure you can imagine a few more."

She tensed up and couldn't stop herself from frowning. When she shifted her weight from one bare foot to the next, the floorboards she was standing on creaked. "Do…does the Ministry of Magic know about Celestia Prewett and the frozen heart? I've fought against that group of fanatics. I could-"

"Tina," he cut in, sounding more tired than anything else. "We can't untie this Gordian Knot with violence. What we need right now is diplomacy."

Her shoulders tensed even more. Pain radiated down her back and up her neck. Her feet were icy cold. Her hands were clammy. "We're talking about a weapon of mass destruction here! Grindelwald and company are most certainly counting on this, on us resorting to diplomacy so they can have the freedom to pull off whatever they want! And why wouldn't they? Nobody's stopping them! He can just waltz about, completely unhindered, because all _we_ can manage is _diplomacy_!"

Graves listened to this in silence, almost…wait, were the corners of his mouth twitching? Was he holding back a smile? Was he _laughing_ at her?

This was stupid. She was imagining things.

He said, "They may sink to a new low every day, but we must rise above such things."

Seriously? Her heart was thrumming now. Stars danced before her eyes. She felt a little queasy. "But-"

"No. No 'buts'. Our enemies may resort to violence, defamation, and the distortion of facts, but we are better. We must rise above such a level. We must keep civil, and so we will. Truth and facts are on our side. Nothing can change that, least of all your militant attitude of cursing first, asking questions later. You will go home. I will clean up your mess. The Ministry of Magic will deal with their own people the way they see fit. Understand?"

For a moment, she just stared at him in gobsmacked silence. What was this? Compromise? Letting evil slide? Politics? Okay, her conduct hadn't been perfect, but what good did it do anyone if they turned a blind eye on things like wizarding supremacy? Compromising had led them to where they were. Being civil in the face of rising violence, racism, and discrimination was what had allowed Grindelwald and his sociopathic minions to undermine society the way they had. These people cared nothing for politeness, respect, tolerance, empathy, or even the truth. Facts were nothing to these radical fanatics. They would use any and every tactic known to humanity in order to break apart what they hated, namely respect for those who could not do magic – as if No-Majs were somehow inferior just because they'd been born that way.

"What I understand, Mister Graves, what I _know_ is that we must stand up to evil. We can't just rely on the rules of engagement, on diplomacy…on civility. We have to start fighting them before it's too late...before they take over while we were too busy being polite."

After just looking back at her with an unreadable look on his face, he ran his fingers through his hair, breathed out deeply again, and shook his head again. "You're to go home, Tina, without making a fuss. Someone will take you to the train station in a couple of hours and explain the details of your journey to you. Just be grateful that you get to keep your job, and you know what? One more toe out of line – one more – and you'll be writing wand permits for the rest of your life. Aurors need to be able to follow orders. You got that?"

She had so much more to say – so much more – but gnashed her teeth together. "Yes."

"Good." He turned around, opened the door, hesitated, added, "Your wand will be handed back to you before you get on that train. Do not disappoint me again," and left.

Tina just kept gawking blankly at the heavy wooden door, her thoughts racing, her heart heavy. No. No, she couldn't agree with him – _couldn't_. Yes, she'd go home as ordered – no way around it – but she couldn't just lay back and do nothing, couldn't just allow society to go on a horrible downward spiral into violence, bigotry, and chaos. There could be no compromise in the face of racism. There could be no high road where humanity itself was at stake. If she witnessed something wrong, she would fight it. People deserved to have their rights defended. They deserved better than toothless diplomacy, a tactic that had so far done nothing to stop Grindelwald and the rest of the monsters on his trail.

There could be no compromise.

Yes, Tina would go home and do what was right. She owed it to herself and to everyone who had ever died at the hands of racists, psychopaths, and murderers.

* * *

 **5** **One didn't have to get close to the Fawley estate** in order to realise that the whole place was surrounded and being watched by a bunch of Aurors – Aurors ready to curse on sight, that was, courtesy of their boss, one Theseus Scamander. And why _wouldn't_ they listen to him? He was a war hero, after all, unlike his kooky, scatter-brained, silly pacifist of a little brother – a little brother who'd flunked out of school, no less.

The brother in question was at home, waiting for the dawn.

There was no guarantee that Celestia would make her move then, but it was the logical conclusion. Alastair's time was running out, and she had nothing left to lose.

Newt had to be there; he _had_ to. Somehow, he needed to get inside the perimeter, had to find Celestia, had to show her that she was wrong. Death and sacrifice were not the way. No, in order to solve the mystery of the frozen heart, she needed to show a very different kind of vulnerability.

Violence, hatred, intolerance were never the answer to anything.

If she couldn't understand this, then she would die – as well as the Fawley family.

This was not the time to be tough, but it was the time to be brave.

He needed to get to her, to get to her before his brother could kill her, before the Grindelwald fanatics could snatch away the frozen heart.

Tomorrow, everything would change.


	31. At the End of All Things

**A/N** **: Thanks to** _fantasynamegenerators_ (dot c o m) **for providing a good Hippogriff name – I wouldn't want to take credit for something that isn't mine. Check that site out if you can. They have all kinds of name generators that might interest you.**

 **The switch to present tense in most of the chapter is deliberate, as the story has come full circle now and is about to end. Already, I thank the few people who've stuck with this thing. I enjoyed writing it, but apparently, not too many enjoyed reading it. Since most people don't take the time to leave comments, I seriously don't know why this story didn't get the traction that** _ **Be Careful What You Wish For**_ **got; that one had longer chapters and ended up a huge monstrosity (and was** _ **so much fun**_ **to write!). People liked it better, in any case; I would like to know why. So if anyone of you got to this point, don't hesitate to give your opinion. If you don't want to leave a negative review, just PM me, instead. I take literary criticism in stride: in fact, I welcome it, as I'm always looking to improve my craft. Anyway, thanks for sticking around. Whatever time you've invested, it is appreciated.**

 **There'll be an epilogue to wrap it all up.**

 **The current chapter's title is a thinly-veiled reference to a scene from** _ **The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King**_ **(movie).**

* * *

 **At the End of All Things**

 **1925**

 **1** **Once upon a time,** there was a young woman named Nocturna who fell in love with a dark ideology.

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Celestia who fell in love with a boy named Alastair, and he with her.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Newt who became infatuated with a certain Leta Lestrange. She unwittingly taught him much about that elusive, blinding emotion called love…and about the fallout.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Leta, who loved nothing more than the idea of being loved by all, and who would sacrifice almost anyone on that altar.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Tina who lost her parents to the great unfairness that is sickness, and who vowed to fight injustice with empathy.

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Apollo who loved a girl who didn't – couldn't – love him back.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Petronius who nearly killed a friend he loved, and who promised to never fail that friend again.

Once upon a time, they were all young (so young) and naïve and somewhat self-important and believed in happy endings.

Some of them will survive this day, but not all – no, not all of them.

Today, this little tale of woe will end, one way or another.

* * *

 **2** **Given that autumn is slowly turning into winter,** dawn takes its time breaking. Luckily, there is no cloud in the sky. At least visibility won't be a problem, no matter how this whole affair might go down today. It's cold, and banks of white mist are hovering, swirling above the meadows surrounding the Fawley residence. The whole house is covered in ice by now – ice that seems to glitter and sparkle in the rising, reddish sunlight. It's a beautiful sight. Well, this is a beautiful place: quiet, pleasant, lovely, and bucolic.

Newt would be probably ecstatic, wouldn't he? Of course he would, the silly sod.

Theseus is standing at the edge of the little patch of forest out of which the ice monster burst a year ago today. He raises his gloved hands to his lips and breathes onto them. Gloves or no gloves, the chill's been creeping into his very bones, it seems. His toes are numb, the rest of his feet tingling. It's time for this farce to end…and it is a farce, isn't it? A total, complete, and utter _farce_. How could the people who caused this be so _stupid_? Celestia Prewett, Alastair Fawley…

…Newton Scamander.

Oh, Newt. When he was still a child, Theseus was sure that the lad would grow out of his predilection for mud-digging, but that never happened. The biggest problem, in Theseus's mind, is that Newt never learned how to grow up. He's still a child in so many ways, most of all his staggering naiveté. He has a talent, that boy, to blunder into catastrophes that he actually has nothing to do with, that he wants no part of.

One only has to think about how he got kicked out of Hogwarts…

…because he was in love with Leta back then.

Some of Theseus's tension drains from his limbs.

Ah, Leta. She is something else, isn't she? Something else.

Naturally, Theseus knows all about how his little brother got expelled. It was more or less Leta's fault. She played a prank on Alastair Fawley, cleverly weaselled her way out of it, and did what any survivor would do. Too bad that Newt, wide-eyed dreamer and eternal child, was too naïve to figure this out.

There's some degree of dramatic irony at play here, isn't there? Everyone involved in the conspiracy that had Newt as collateral damage back then is somehow involved in today's spot of drama.

Theseus can only hope that Newt will stay at home like a good boy and not swoop in dramatically to save Celestia Prewett and, for good measure, get himself killed. If that happens, it will be Newt's fault, yes, but their parents won't see it that way. To be fair, neither will Theseus. He and Newt don't exactly see eye to eye for a dozen reasons – haven't for a long time – but that doesn't mean Theseus wants to see him hurt.

That doesn't mean Theseus doesn't love him.

But love is love and family is family… and business is business. Their business today is more important than personal feelings, more important than family, more important than love – which is why he's told Leta to stay at home, in safety. This way, she can neither get in the potential line of fire, nor can she be implicated in any way. No, Leta Lestrange is a society witch – glamorous, beautiful, sociable – who attends charity events and looks amazing hanging off her handsome fiancé's arm. Nobody is to believe that she actually could ever be involved in shady business involving potential weapons of mass destruction.

From his left, a voice snaps him out of it: "I hoped that Tina Goldstein would listen to me, but your own Nocturna Prewett didn't exactly help matters."

Theseus glances at Percival Graves, his MACUSA counterpart – well, actually, at the man wearing Graves's face, posing as Graves. In all honesty, Theseus does _not_ want to know where the real Graves is. "I prefer to place the blame on Petronius Flint, but in any case, the point is moot. Things are as they are, and we need to make the best of it."

"Spoken like a true politician," (not) Graves says, and smiles. "I like it."

"Thank you."

"Mm. You're sure your Aurors will be willing to do what is necessary?"

"Yes. Most of them aren't in the know, of course, but they'll fight if they have to." There's a bit of a knot in Theseus's throat. His half-numb, all-chilled feet are itching. "I'm hoping it won't come to that."

"It will," Graves says, using a tranquil, almost dreamy tone that frankly gives Theseus a good case of the chills. "Just you wait for it, young man. There will be bloodshed today."

"Let's hope you're wrong," Theseus says, but it sounds feeble, unconvinced. He's so, so glad that Leta isn't here.

Maybe Newt won't show up. Maybe he'll be smart for once, selfish for once.

But Theseus knows that the odds of that happening are slim to none. He opens his mouth to say something soothing, but that's when chaos erupts seemingly out of nowhere.

Fireworks and curses rain down on everyone, apparently from everywhere, as a group of people on brooms sweep down from the heavens. Hell, it's like they appeared out of nowhere! Have they Apparated into the sky above? From _where_? Who _are_ they?

What is _happening_?

Theseus pulls his wand from his coat pocket. This is it. _Please be safe and at home, brother_ , he thinks, as all hell breaks loose.

* * *

 **3** **About two hours before dawn,** Newt is already outside his family home, at the Hippogriff stables, feeding those magnificent creatures that he sees as friends rather than pets. He feeds them, cleans the stables, tries to keep his mind off what he's about to do. It'll happen today, at dawn. It _has_ to. After all, today is the last day, and Celestia won't – can't – wait any longer. She also can't brave the Auror defences in the darkness, knowing that those people are experts where battle is concerned and will definitely have the advantage under such circumstances.

It has to be today, but it's not just logic that drives Newt to this conclusion. No, during the past few years, he got to know Celestia, and he's sure somehow that she'll make her move as soon as the sun is out.

Newt needs to be there before that happens.

His parents know. They haven't talked about this, not since he's returned home from his journey. They haven't asked many questions at all. They know that this is something he needs to do.

He needs to try everything he can in order to prevent bloodshed.

They also know that in this, both their children are not on the same page.

Newt and Theseus are not exactly on opposing sides – after all, both of them want to keep the frozen heart out of the hands of fanatics – but they aren't allied, either, not in this. In all probability, they never have been. It's a sad thought, but it's the truth, and such is ever undeniable. Just because they are brothers, that doesn't mean they are family. It's not as if Newt doesn't care about his brother, but in the end – and he knows this, knows this very well – it's his own aloofness that has deepened the rift between the brothers that was once caused by their so incompatible personalities.

Okay, that's not the _only_ reason, but Newt has reached a point in his life where he can't pretend that he's blameless in everything. He isn't. No-one ever is.

Now, he's standing in front of the oldest of the Hippogriffs, a dear friend who's been there most of his life. "Swiftwing," he says lowly, in the almost complete darkness, sinking his fingers into the soft feathers to both sides of the tall, lean, proud creature's head. "My parents wouldn't want you – none of you – to help me do what I'm asking you to; Theseus wouldn't, either. You need to know this. But still, I _need_ your help. I can't do this by myself, but even if you refuse, I'll try to save her – to save them. I have to. Will you help me?"

Swiftwing, who has mothered half a dozen of the most beautiful Hippogriffs ever foaled, nuzzles him carefully.

He can't help but crack a smile, says, "I know; I know," and puts his arms around her strong, slender neck. "You're a good friend."

Again, she nuzzles him.

Again, he smiles.

Little later, they're on their way.

He only hopes that none of them will come to harm…and that his family will forgive him.

* * *

 **4** **This is it. Time to act. If they don't make it today,** they never will. Celestia stands among the Appleby Arrows players, her own broom in hand and the frozen heart in a rucksack on her back, inside its charmed case. They're still by Loch Katrine as dawn starts to break. The plan is to Apparate right to the edges of the Fawley Estate, swoop in, and create a huge distraction, so that Celestia can get in and then make her way to the house. They're to engage the Aurors and draw their fire.

Celestia told Ronny that activating the frozen heart will take only a few seconds, and that's true. What she's kept from him is how it gets activated in the first place.

He wouldn't approve, the way Newt didn't approve when he found out.

Newt told her that she was mistaken, that her way couldn't be the true way, but he couldn't offer any better solutions, either.

Besides, now it's too late for doubts. They're about to start, about to rain hell on those who would take away from her the only means to save the Fawleys – to save Alastair.

She sees him before her mind's eye, sees him so clearly: his dark hair, the sharp contours of his face, the spark in his eyes, the warmth of his smile, his slender frame. _Today's the day_ , she thinks, and unsuccessfully tries to swallow the knot in her throat. _Today's the day I get to save you for once, Alley. I hope you can forgive me_.

"Ready?" Ronny says, from her left. His deep voice is trembling a little. Bless him, he sounds euphoric, excited. Good. Good for him. It's an adventure after all, isn't it? All a big adventure that can't have anything but a happy ending.

"Ready," she says, her own voice feeble.

"All right, then," he says, and whistles loudly. "On my mark, Appleby Arrows. Three, two, one, _mark!_ "

They dematerialise. As dramatic as it sounds, this much is true: there's no turning back now.

* * *

 **5** **Nocturna Prewett just has time to curse her allies' stupidity** and her sister's stubbornness as suddenly, the sky above her is on fire. There are lunatics on brooms everywhere, dropping steeply from staggering heights and only pulling up shortly before hitting the ground, firing curses and hexes and illusions wherever they go. Inside the set perimeter (and whose idea was it _not_ to cast an energy dome around the whole estate, Hogwarts-style?), they Apparate to and fro, this way and that, leading the dozen Aurors present on a merry chase.

These are clearly professional Quidditch players, and this? This is a distraction.

 _Damn you, Tia_ , she thinks, as she gets out her wand and runs from the Fawley house's icy, dead lawn to the gaping hole where the back door used to be. Frozen blades of grass crunch beneath her boots. She doesn't want to just Apparate to the place where her sister's most likely to show up. She needs to run, to get her blood pumping, to shake off the ghastly, paralysing cold.

Ronny Flint recruited his entire team, did he? Impressive.

To be honest, Nocturna didn't think he had it in him.

But Tia, willing to sacrifice two dozen innocent Quidditch players to her own private cause?

Now, this is something that Nocturna can actually respect.

She skids inside the house, to the living room, where a layer of sparkly ice is coating everything: broken furniture, the huge lifeless monster…the Fawley family.

There's Alastair, on his back, eyes shut, face slack. He looks almost like he's sleeping, as trite as that sounds.

Nocturna positions herself in front of him. "No offense, mate, but while everyone out there is trying to stop your sweetheart from getting this far, I'll just use you as a bargaining chip when she inevitably does." Feeling bratty beyond belied, she adds, "Oh, and by the way? I really don't like you."

* * *

 **6** **This is ridiculous!** These rogue broom riders have utterly stunned a group of the best Aurors in the world – figuratively and literally! And none of the Aurors has a broomstick with them. Ridiculous! Haphazard! _Arrogant_!

"Scamander," Graves says calmly, from his left, "it's time the gloves came off."

Theseus stares at him, wide-eyed, stomach cramping. He's fighting for composure. "What does _that_ mean?"

"It means that you're losing control of the situation." A curse explodes to his left, but Graves doesn't even flinch. "You need to make an example out of these insurgents who are questioning the rule of law. They're aiding and abetting a terrorist, after all."

"Wait, are you" – Theseus feels colder than ever, chilled to the core, as battle rages all around them – "are you suggesting lethal force?"

"Make your decision," Graves says, betraying his real identity in his utter ruthlessness. "Step up and spill blood for the greater good, or go down as an ineffectual weakling. What will it be?"

But these people, they're…they're not enemies! They're athletes, _civilians_ helping out a friend and probably completely ignorant of the circumstances! They don't deserve to die. None of them does – not one, not even Celestia Prewett, greatest nuisance of them all.

"Tick-tock, Scamander. Time's up. Be worthy of my trust. Think of the greater good. You'll be a hero, the fearless leader who stopped an evil terrorist plot! Whatever changes you'll wish to implement afterwards, you'll be free to do so." A somewhat nasty smirk curves up the corners of Graves's mouth – of Grindelwald's mouth.

A terrorist plot that doesn't exist.

A crisis they themselves have fabricated.

An excuse to create a climate of fear in which they can finally push to eliminate the Muggle-loving policies of the current government.

Theseus grips his wand tightly and clenches his jaw. "Let's do this then," he says. "For the greater good."

* * *

 **7** **At first, the Aurors are entirely duped by the sudden,** outrageous, absurd, almost ridiculously brazen attack of the Quidditch players, who so thoroughly manage to mess up their plan. Celestia flies in, praying to all available gods that she doesn't fall off the broom like a total idiot, since her flying skills are mediocre at best.

It's those bad skills that make the difference, in the end, even as Ronny and comrades so bravely and skilfully clear the way for her.

A couple of minutes in, and the Aurors change their tactic. They go from defending to attacking. They go from deflecting to using deadly force.

They're using deadly force!

Oh, no. No!

One second, two of the chasers are flanking Celestia, big grins on their faces, and then, green light hits them and they tumble down, dead.

Celestia swerves, dodges a red curse, spins, loses control, and falls. She connects sideways with some wall – guest house, it's the guest house – crashes against glass, falls with her face on the asphalt causeway built just two years ago to accommodate carriages and charmed Muggle motor vehicles.

No. No!

Air whooshes out her lungs. The pain is _blinding_. Hot blood drips into her face. The palms of her hands are burning. Where is that damned broomstick?

She needs to get out of here, needs to cross over to the-

A curse!

Blindly, she Apparates away, just anywhere, and finds herself by the gate, against it. On her back, the rucksack pulls at her, drags her down.

Three Aurors around her!

This cannot be the end. It can't. It _won't_!

Around her, Ronny's friends are dying.

Too far away, oh so far, the house, covered in ice, gleams in the bright light of morning.

It's not night. It's not raining. There's no ominous thunder. No, it's broad daylight when it all happens, but even if it were the blackest of starless, moonless nights, it would make no difference. There's so much blinding radiance, it eclipses the sun. Bright lights sparking out of wands hit each other hit their targets blast stone and metal and wood concrete bringing down walls and roofs cracking asphalt bending lampposts crashing windows there's glass flying stones shards shrapnel people scream run vehicles crash fire smoke death.

Death is everywhere.

The opponents attack each other mercilessly with curses, hexes, anything that might damage break rip tear crack slash split kill.

It's all about the kill count now.

Human casualties are piling up, but it's unavoidable. This is war. In war, people die. Innocents die. It cannot be helped.

But Celestia doesn't care about any of it right now. The opinions the debates the press the conflicts the skirmishes the dead the destruction the palpable fear like lead on the tongue the horrors not anything no. She runs, Apparates, bounces off an energy shield cast by whoever, falls on her back, hits her head, sees stars. Clenching her teeth and groaning, she pushes herself to her feet, wipes a sweat-and-blood soaked strand of hair out of her forehead with a slippery, shaky hand. She totters, breathes, blinks blindly in the haze of all that smoke listens takes in the cacophony of curses screams horns honking windows exploding the wounded weeping orders being shouted names called sirens approaching dear God.

A curse hits her in the side. Pain explodes in her entire body. Agony. Fire. Torture. Oh God oh no what is this it's hell it's death it's oh God oh God like having a hole drilled into her ribcage filled with molten gold lava fire. She can't even scream as she goes down on her face, hits her forehead, thrashes gasps gags vomits oh no is this the end it can't be she has to find it has to make it has to succeed can't stop can't give up can't die.

No. _No!_

Barely realising that she's weeping, she props herself up on one elbow, mops blood out of her eyes, spits bile, crawls forward, broken and ignored. So many important people here. So many fates being decided. A lone Prewett daughter doesn't catch anyone's eye. Even if, she's between the battle lines, inching forward painfully, clawing at pieces of broken asphalt with her torn fingernails and dragging herself ahead bit by bit, trying desperately to stomp down the growing dread that she is about to fail her mission.

Celestia Prewett is dying, and nobody cares. She doesn't care all that much, either, not the way things are going, but she _needs to find it_. If she doesn't, she'll fail, and if she fails, everything that ever mattered to her will be lost…

* * *

 **8** **…she needs to find her way to the house,** to Alastair, amid all the chaos the pain the despair the disorientation but she's bleeding and blinded and in so much pain oh dear oh God oh it can't end this way it can't after all this time Alastair…

…there's shade covering her, suddenly, and the rustle of wings blotting out the glare of sun and ice and curses.

Someone yells, " _Stupefy!_ " twice – a voice she knows. There's the thud of feet landing hard on the cracked asphalt. " _Vulnera sanentur_ ," the voice says, and suddenly, the pain stops. It stops! "Celestia. We haven't got much time. Come on!"

That…what?

Hands grab her under her armpits and haul her up. "Sorry, but we've no time. They're still trying to figure out the Hippogriffs – especially my brother – but the shock won't last for long."

Before Celestia can shake off her own state of shock, the newcomer has helped her onto the back of a huge, silver-feathered Hippogriff. "Newt," she hears herself say.

He gets up on the creature behind her and nudges it, getting it to flap its wings and rise into the air. "This is gonna work, Celestia, but you _have to listen to me_. Please, _listen_ to me. I know how to save everyone."

They rise up. All around them, battle rages, but a group of Hippogriffs is keeping their coast clear. As they approach the house, the air gets icy cold.

Celestia's stomach lurches. She grabs on tightly to the Hippogriff's neck, tries hard to fight off the sensation of vertigo. Stars and black splotches dance merrily across her field of vision. "Okay," she manages to croak out through clenched teeth (and isn't the sensation of her blood-caked clothes clinging to her healed side just the _nastiest_?), "I'm listening."

It's hard to believe that the tide has turned her way, now, even with all of these brave friends so willing and ready to help her.

She knows she can't fail, _must not fail_ , but something horrible still lurks in the shadows, waiting to waylay her at the home stretch.

The Hippogriff dives, heads for the house's back entrance.

* * *

 **9** **They can't fly into the house** because the ripped-open back entrance is beginning to freeze shut. The Hippogriff won't fit through it without getting hurt on the glistening ice stalagmites and stalactites. Therefore, the creature lands right in front of the broken door.

"Either there's a bunch of Aurors in there," Newt says, helping Celestia, whose legs are rubbery, down to the ground, "or they were just arrogant enough to believe that you'd never get this far."

She adjusts the straps of her rucksack. The thing inside it, magically contained or no, is growing colder, now. The chill numbs her back and radiates up and down her body. In fact, she's so cold, it's a marvel she's still holding onto her wand. "They didn't count on me having so much support. It's nice to have friends." She manages to smile at Newt. "Thank you for being here."

He nods. "Of course." The matter-of-factly certitude that he says that in is just a little bit heart-breaking.

Farther away, things explode. People scream. Hippogriffs screech. Something apparently bursts into flames. The sirens have stopped. Have some of the Aurors busied themselves with obliviating Muggles?

Doesn't even matter right now.

Celestia can see the glare of burning trees from the corner of her eyes. "We need to be careful." She sets into motion, Newt by her side.

Inside, Nocturna is waiting for them, wand at the ready.

* * *

 **10** **Nocturna sees Tia and that insipid Scamander boy** walk into the glittering winter landscape that is the Fawley living room side by side, almost timidly. Both have their wands in hand. Tia is wearing a rucksack on her back. The poor girl is dishevelled and pale, her face and clothes caked in drying blood. She seems okay, thought. Scamander must have healed her wounds before they got critical. Good. Good, good.

But this damned situation.

"You shouldn't have abandoned me, _sister_ ," Nocturna says, putting emphasis on the last word purely for dramatic effect. "Didn't do you any favours, did it? Following Petronius and leaving _me_ behind?" She motions about. "Here we are, united again." Right behind her lies Alastair, on the verge of moving on from his year-long sleep. She sees Tia's eyes widen at the side of him, sees colour draining from her face.

"You need to let me save him," Tia says, her voice only trembling slightly. She herself is shaking, though. Her breath comes out of her mouth in white puffs. It's so goddamn _cold_.

"Give me the frozen heart, and then we can both use it," Nocturna counters, and holds out a hand – the hand that isn't grasping a wand.

"No." That's Scamander. He turns to Tia, looks at her intently. "That's not how it works. This isn't a cow that can be milked. The frozen heart can only be activated once. It's not to be _used_." There's disdain in his voice – almost contempt. "This isn't an object, Celestia. It's a living thing. It belongs to the _Hibernus Horridus_. Only if you return it to its rightful owner can all wrongs be righted." A small silence ensues. " _Trust_ me."

"Don't listen to him," Nocturna says, realising how clichéd that sounds, but unable to think of anything better at short notice. The cold has got inside her, it seems, crept into her bones, her veins, her innards. She can't feel her feet anymore – her fingers, ears, and nose either, come to think about it. Every muscle in her body is tense. Her teeth are clenched. "We can work together, the two of us. I'll help you save Alastair, and then you can just let me leave here quietly. I'll never get in your way again, but I _need that thing, Tia! The movement needs it!_ "

"Celestia," Scamander says, sounding calm and – damn him – warm, "no. This isn't how the frozen heart works. We couldn't quite lift its mystery whilst on the road together, remember?"

Keeping her eyes and her wand fixed on her sister, Tia says, "I remember."

"Tia…"

But Scamander pays her no heed. "You read something about making a sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice, and that's correct…but you still came to the wrong conclusion."

"And you know better now?" Tia's voice has started to tremble.

"Tia, please, you need to think of the greater good, here."

Still, Scamander ignores Nocturna, and says, "I do know better now. I _do_. The sacrifice you need to make is not your life, Celestia. This isn't about death. It's the opposite."

Briefly, Tia breaks eye-contact with Nocturna to glance at her intrepid companion (nauseating, that is). "I don't understand."

"Death," he says, sounding so kind, it sets Nocturna's teeth on edge even worse than they already are, "is not what you've always feared the most. Fear of death is not the greatest obstacle you have to face. Besides, whatever revives a frozen heart can never be loss of life, can it?" As he puts a hand on her shoulder, Nocturna realises that he knows her sister better than she does at this point. How depressing. "So what do you need to do to solve this puzzle?"

For a moment, the whole world – it seems – holds its breath.

Tia's eyes fill with tears. She glances at Alastair, at Scamander, then faces Nocturna again. "I was always afraid, you know. I suppose you don't, because you left so early and never looked back, never cared about anything anymore but your ideology."

Nocturna's stomach clenches. "That's not true."

"But that's _your_ life, and I needed to live mine. And I…" She trails off, sniffles, blinks. Tears spill down her cheeks. Clear snot runs out her nose. She wipes it all away with her sleeve. Doesn't matter, does it? It's too late for cleanliness and decorum, now, anyway. "I lived my life in fear: fear of disapproval, fear of punishment, fear of failure, fear of loneliness. Even my return to Alastair was, in the end, driven by fear. It taints every single one of my decisions." She chews on her lower lip. The knot in which she's tied her ruddy hair is coming apart. Strands are dangling in front of her face. She barely seems to register this. "I would've killed myself out of fear, fear of knowing I couldn't save Alastair despite my best efforts, fear of being a failure, fear of never seeing my daughter again…fear of all the consequences that surely must be reaped." Again, she glances at Scamander, before focussing on Nocturna once more. "I've never been willing to let go of my fear. It's like a blanket, you know. It keeps me safe. That's why you've always thought me craven, I suppose – because I was. But not anymore."

"Tia, no, I-"

"I'm sorry, Nana, but for once – just this once – I have to take a stand and follow my heart, not my fear," Tia says, her voice now firm, the hand holding her wand steady. Her eyes are still wet, but she no longer weeps. Before Nocturna can make herself unfreeze, Tia says, "Stupefy."

Nocturna only has time to see bright light hitting her. Then, the world grows dark.

* * *

 **11** **This whole enterprise has devolved into a nightmare.** Not only a bunch of berserk broom-flyers have shown up to mess up what was supposed to be a tightly controlled operation, but now, there's all the Hippogriffs from Theseus's parents' home!

How the _hell_ has Newt pulled this off?

Something like jealousy pierces Theseus's guts as he shoots at the enemy (athletes, civilians, innocents). The Hippogriffs have always liked his little brother a lot more – all magical creatures have, actually.

Damn it.

Why couldn't Newt stay at home like he was supposed to?

At least Leta isn't here.

He sees Graves – cold and reserved and utterly under control – trying to make his way toward the Fawley house. Bracing himself against the inevitably following attacks, Theseus breaks into a run.

* * *

 **12** **"What do I do now, Newt?" Celestia says,** calm, as if she's realised that the world is about to end and that fearing this has become pointless. She's pocketed her wand and is already shrugging out of the rucksack. There'll be frostbite on her back – nothing that can't be cured, of course, but it must be painful despite the numbness. "I'm listening."

"You need to reunite the frozen heart with the _Hibernus Horridus_ ," he says, glancing at the door.

Swiftwing is there, guarding it. It won't be easy to get past her, wands or no wands. She's being aided by her family, after all.

Celestia plucks the heart out of the rucksack – it's still shielded by magic – drops the rucksack, and heads over to the immobile, white-furred, ice-crusted shape of the _Hibernus_. She says, "Now, I suppose I give it back to its rightful owner."

"Yes."

"All right. All right." She gently places the pulsing, bright-blue, spiky heart atop the creature, pulls out her wand again, and removes the shielding charm with a flick of her wrist.

Immediately, the room is flooded in blue light. The heart beats faster, sparkles, glares, and then-

Oh, Newt has to shield his eyes, that flash of light is _so bright!_

Celestia opens her eyes after a few seconds, turns around, walks over to Alastair's lifeless body, and drops to her knees. "I risked everything now, Alley," she says so quietly, it's almost inaudible, "even though I have no guarantees that this will work, even though there is no safety net…even though I don't even believe that this _can_ work. But I risked it, anyway, because I need to not be fearless, but accept my fear and take this greatest risk of my life anyway." She bends down and kisses his icy forehead. "I love you."

Behind her, the Hibernus stirs. It'll be a while until it wakes, but it _is_ alive…

…so is Alastair. The ice on his face melts. He sucks in a sharp, ragged breath and sits up abruptly, almost colliding with Celestia. When she puts her arms around him, he hugs her back slowly, sluggishly, clearly confused. "My, my, Miss Prewett," he says, his voice raspy, "you wouldn't believe the dreams I've had."

* * *

 **13** **That's when there's commotion at the door.** Newt hurries over. He can hear his brother's voice. Well, Swiftwing won't attack him, nor will she have any of the others do so, but she won't let him pass without Newt's okay, either.

"Newton, I know you're in there! Stop trying to play the hero and let us in!"

Newton? No, scratch that: _us?_ All right, then.

Theseus sounds exasperated more than anything – which would be rather amusing under different circumstances – but not stressed out. The ice inside the house is disappearing rather than melting, Alastair Fawley and his parents are awake, and the _Hibernus_ is breathing yet asleep. It stands to reason that the thick coat of ice covering the house and surrounding grounds has disappeared, as well. There isn't any battle noise coming in from outside anymore, either.

At least that's over.

Still, thinking that there are probably several people out there who've lost their lives makes Newt pretty queasy. There's been death, and for what? Because some let ambition weigh heavier than decency. He heads over, says to Swiftwing, "Easy, now. Please let them pass."

Readily enough, she does, unblocking the way for Theseus and a man Newt doesn't know – tall, slim, pale-skinned, dark-haired, and in his forties, he has the air of someone who's used to wielding authority.

Theseus, of course, wastes no time pushing past both Swiftwing, whom he regards with wounded reproach, and his brother.

"It's done," Newt says, watching as both newcomers step into the still de-icing house. "Celestia did what I said she would: she saved the Fawleys."

Theseus stomps into the living room, sees the _Hibernus_ , and points his wand at it.

"Wait, _no!_ " Newt scrambles after his brother, skids past him, and gets directly in the line of fire. "Don't hurt it! It's not dangerous!"

Even though Theseus clearly isn't going to AK his own brother, he stares at Newt as if the latter has gone mad. "Because of this _monster_ , over a dozen people have been killed here and in the United States!"

Newt shakes his head. "No. Because of humans trying to exploit the _Hibernus_ , people have been killed. It didn't do anything but defend itself. It caused no death. Look around! The frozen people are alive and well."

Alastair and Celestia are still kneeling on the floor, clinging to each other for dear life. His parents are sitting side by side, hugging, still looking rather dazed and confused. Celestia's belligerent sister is lying on her back, unconscious. The _Hibernus_ sleeps, breathing deeply.

"Is she dead?" The man behind Theseus says, betraying no emotion. He chins toward the stupefied Nocturna Prewett. Aha. An American, then – probably Theseus's MACUSA counterpart. He'd fit the bill, in any case.

"Just knocked out," Newt says, then locks eyes with his brother again. His own heart is hammering. His face feels hot. How can he make the others understand how precious the _Hibernus Horridus_ is? That it isn't just a beast, a monster that needs to be eradicated if it can't be exploited? "Theseus, please listen to me," he says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "This creature is on the brink of extinction. It hasn't actually harmed anyone. It does not deserve to die just because a bunch of witches and wizards wanted to use part of its body for nefarious purposes. Please, _please_ don't kill it. It's _not dangerous_."

A small, heavy silence ensues.

Finally (and thankfully), Theseus lowers his wand. He's decided to go the way of reason. Thank _God_. "Petronius Flint is dead," he says, addressing Celestia.

In Alastair's arms, Celestia bursts into sobs.

Alastair holds her tighter, buries his face in her messy, knotted hair, and makes soothing noises.

Clearly not caring, Theseus goes on, "So is his paramour, Mister Domingo. So are six others of the Appleby Arrows. Three of my Aurors have died. Ares Malfoy was killed in America. Two other wizards were murdered by Flint. Tell me, Miss Prewett, why I shouldn't arrest you on the spot."

Celestia, however, is not in any condition to reply.

"Well, Miss Prewett? Stop crying your crocodile tears and answer me."

That's just cruel, in Newt's opinion. "Because she hasn't committed any crimes," he says, before Celestia feels compelled to peel herself out of Alastair's iron grip. "She got the frozen heart away from the Grindelwald fanatics and saved the Fawleys and the _Hibernus Horridus_."

That's when Alastair finally seems to realise that there are more people around than his sweetheart. "Wait, _what_?" He gives Celestia a confused look, then notices Nocturna. "What's _she_ doing here?"

Judging by the expression on Celestia's blotchy, blood-crusted, tear-and-snot-streaked face, the sickle just dropped in her mind, as well. Laboriously, she gets to her feet, holds out a hand, and helps Alastair do the same.

He totters toward his parents and helps them up, in turn.

Celestia looks from Newt to Theseus to the stranger – the American – in confusion. "That's an excellent question. The whole place was guarded by Aurors. How did my sister get _in_ here?"

"She must have used the overall confusion as cover," the American said, nonchalant.

"In any case, we're taking her in for questioning," Theseus adds, after exchanging a look with the American. "Mister Graves, you're probably gonna want to be there when that happens."

The American – Graves – nods.

"It's done, now," Celestia says, wiping tears and grime and snot and coagulated blood from her face with her coat sleeve. She looks from one to the other, but her eyes linger on Graves the MACUSA bloke. "The frozen heart didn't end up in the hands of criminals or those who would've used it only for defensive purposes." She says this with obvious contempt. "No-one will use it now but the creature it actually belongs to." Her eyes fill up with tears again. She sniffles. Her face contorts as she tries to regain control over herself. "If you had all just let me find it and bring it back, all these people wouldn't have died. Ronny-" Her voice breaks. She slaps her hands to her face. Her breathing becomes ragged, laborious.

Alastair is there almost immediately to take her in his arms.

Neither Theseus nor Graves have anything to say to that, but they don't look all too happy at the criticism.

"What are we supposed to do with the beast?" Theseus says, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Take it some place unpopulated," Newt says, "where it can be safe from humanity."

"And who's supposed to do that?"

Newt shrugs. "I'll do it. Won't be a problem."

"Newt-"

"I'll help you," Alastair cuts in, earning himself Theseus's glare of ire. "I'm pretty sure the lovely Miss Prewett will do the same."

Having herself somewhat under control again, she breaks off the embrace and nods. "Yes. Of _course_."

That's sweet. Newt can't help but feel heartened. He smiles a little. "Thank you."

"And now, please excuse me," Celestia says, "I want to pay my respects to the dead." She takes Alastair by the hand and together, they walk outside.


	32. Epilogue: Though All the World is Broken

**A/N : The title is a quote from the Keane song "Atlantic". Again, I thank the few folks who've stuck around to read until the bitter end. **

* * *

**Epilogue: Though All the World is Broken**

 **January of 1926**

 **1** **It's been a few months,** and things have started to calm down somewhat – well, for Celestia personally, at least. The whole conflict with Gellert Grindelwald is still going on, still getting worse, but Celestia's life is getting better. Nothing is perfect, of course, but there is definitely improvement – and peace, some sort of peace.

Petronius Flint is dead.

Ares Malfoy is dead.

That…Celestia has to say, she finds herself unable to grieve for him personally, in her heart. Still, she does it outwardly, because it would be discourteous not to, because it would cause people pain who don't deserve it. No, she doesn't feign sorrow, but she does show respect.

Her wedding plans to Alastair will not be announced until after Ares has been dead for a year. It's only fitting. After all, the last thing Celestia wants is to hurt Apollo and, by extension, Artemis.

That's another positive, if not perfect consequence of the whole debacle: Apollo has agreed to let Celestia see their daughter from time to time. Artemis is a little guarded toward her mother, a little suspicious, shattering Celestia's dreams of a tearful and loving reunion, but at least they are talking to each other.

At least now, Celestia is a part of her daughter's life again.

Decisions have consequences. Things rarely turn out the way that people want them to.

Still, she regrets nothing. She can't say that she'll never regret any big decision again, or that she's managed to cast off all the worst aspects of her personality. Real life doesn't work like that, and neither do real people. There has been change, however, inside of her. After everything that has happened, after all that she has risked and lost and gained, she's not afraid anymore. Now she knows that whatever else may be true, she's been through the fire. She lost it all and managed to reclaim her life. There's little that can still shock her anymore.

Right now, she's sitting in the Fawleys' living room, next to Alastair, opposite Newt.

Newt was gracious enough to accept their invitation, but he's already made clear that he doesn't want Alastair's money. He's accepted a cup of tea and some sponge cake, though – at least that much, he'll take.

"So, when will you leave?" Alastair says, sipping his tea from the delicate china cup in his left hand, holding Celestia's hand with his right. It's like he's scared to let her out of his sight.

The feeling is quite mutual, though Celestia wouldn't really describe it as fear. No, it's more like they've finally understood how precious their time together is.

Newt sets down his own cup. "Three days from now. I've got my trip to Tripoli booked and my bag packed."

"Sounds really exciting," Alastair says, and smiles. It's a genuine sentiment, too.

Celestia knows that much. She gives her beloved's hand a gentle squeeze, whilst smiling at Newt. "Finally, you get to do what you always wanted. I'm happy for you."

Neither she nor Alastair will ask Newt how he's financing his lifelong dream. It's none of their business, and he hasn't volunteered any information. It doesn't matter, though. What matters is that he, as well, has found something akin to happiness.

A subtle smile curves up the corners of Newt's mouth. "Thank you. So, uh" – He leans back, presses his right fist to his lips, and discreetly clears his throat – "when's the wedding?"

Celestia and Alastair exchange a look.

She feels her cheeks getting warm. Every time she looks at him, she finds herself completely unable to wipe that silly beam from her face. "On the nineteenth of November."

Alastair says, "You're invited, of course, dear chap."

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be anywhere near this place in November," Newt says, sounding apologetic, but at the same time relieved. He looks past his two hosts and out the window. It's raining buckets out there. The wind is howling. There's a bright fire crackling merrily away in the fireplace, though, bathing the room in warm orange light and inviting shadows.

"Weddings not being your thing, I assume," Alastair says, amused yet not mocking. He'll never mock Newt again – or anybody else who's done nothing to harm him.

"Big weddings."

Celestia re-crosses her legs, and says, "Oh, it'll be small, all right: just us, Alley's parents, and less than half a dozen of our friends." Those friends who are still left, she means, and it's understood. It's understood.

The look on Newt's face shows that he's still sure he won't attend, but he does seem pleased for the pair – his friends. "Sounds lovely. I'm sure you'll be very happy."

"Thanks, in no small part, to you," Alastair says, leans across the small table, and heartily pats Newt's knee. "You're a good man, Scamander. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

Newt nods, scratches his neck, looks away.

Poor thing.

"Have you spoken with Leta?" Celestia says. She knows it's an awkward subject, but she's told Newt about Leta being involved with the Grindelwald supporters group in the USA, and knows that Newt told his brother, to no avail. Apparently, Celestia's words are useless as testimony, and there's no evidence that Leta ever did anything untoward.

Whatever.

Celestia, at least, is beyond caring.

After straightening his posture and locking eyes with her, Newt says, "I have, briefly. It's of no consequence. She has to live her life, and I have to live mine." Meaning that whatever friendship they've once shared, it's now forever tainted.

That, Celestia can empathise with completely. "Well, both Alley and I wish you all the best, and we hope that you consider us your friends as much as we consider you ours."

To that, Newt only smiles, but it's a good one, a heartfelt one.

They just sit there, in comradely silence, enjoying the sound of the storm outside and the fire within.

* * *

 **2** **Tina has returned home and has picked up where she left off.** In fact, it's strange how everything feels as if nothing has changed. The whole 1925 incident – terrorists, poison tattoos, clandestine trips to Franconia, dinner with Gellert Grindelwald – feels like little more than a fever dream.

Queenie told her that she's happy everything's back to normal.

In a sense, Tina agrees.

In a sense.

Still. _Still_.

The whole thing just didn't have a satisfactory ending. Well, it ended, all right, with Celestia Prewett returning the frozen heart to the ice monster and Percival Graves returning to his own jurisdiction. He again reiterated that Tina would be demoted if she put another toe out of line, and she only nodded in silent acknowledgment.

Months have passed, and Tina has not gotten into trouble again.

It's boring, though – boring, dull, and useless. There _is_ trouble, after all – trouble everywhere. These are turbulent times. Something's got to give at some point, of that she is absolutely sure.

It happens – at least it starts – on a drizzly January evening, when Tina's just strolling through the streets of Manhattan, weaving in and out busy crowds of No-Majs who have no idea that they are all in danger…and that the danger is growing.

Tina is so absorbed in her gloomy ruminations, hat pulled almost down to her eyes and her hands stuffed in her coat pocket, that she almost runs into a small crowd of people who are just sort of standing there. She manages to stop just in time, blinks her confusion away, glances about, and realises that she's come across some sort of crowd listening to a woman making a speech.

Said woman – late thirties, slim, white, nondescript – is standing in front of a red banner…

…a red banner portraying hands breaking what looks like a wand.

What?

 _N.S.P.S_., the banner reads.

What the heck _is_ this?

"They are among us at this very moment!" the woman cries out, wagging an accusatory finger at no-one in particular. "Witches, striving to use their filthy sorcery to corrupt us, destroy us, kill us! Citizens, we must rise up! We must be smarter than they are! We must find them and _kill them all!"_

Tina's stomach cramps. An icy shiver runs down her spine. She shudders. Her gaze falls upon the three young people standing with the hatemongering woman: one pre-pubescent girl, a teenaged girl, and a boy in his late teens. The boy – skinny, slump-shouldered, stony-faced – is holding his left wrist with his right. He…

…oh, God, he has red streaks on the palm of his hand. Blood-crusted streaks. The skin is raw, open bruises atop healing ones.

This boy is being beaten.

Tina stares at the woman, at those narrowed eyes, that contorted face, at those balled fists. Bile rises up her throat. She has to actively fight the urge to reach inside her coat and get out her wand, to put a stop to this horror.

Then, she remembers what Graves said.

Then, she remembers what she's promised herself back in Franconia.

Whether she'll be putting her job at risk or not, she doesn't know, but one thing is for sure: she'll be keeping a close eye on this witch-hating No-Maj and these kids – these poor kids who are obviously the object of someone's abuse, probably this woman's.

Whatever this N.S.P.S. is, Tina will keep a watch on it. She won't allow hatred and violence to be spread under her watch, especially if it's directed against children, especially if it's directed against her own kind.

Racist fanatics like Grindelwald do not need a further excuse to persecute No-Majs.

Tina focusses all her attention on the hatred-spewing woman. She has a feeling that whatever she might witness here, today, it will be important.


End file.
